#“if i keep looking at it i might have a seizure” [keeps looking at it until i have a headache] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

celestie0 · 10 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

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

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But why was he remembering all of that now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Morning,” he grumbles.

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

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

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

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

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10:39am you: k

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

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

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

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

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

“Okay, I get it-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His entire body runs rigid.

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

“So I can get over you.”

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

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

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

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

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

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m flattered.”

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

Gojo only hums to himself.

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see,” Gojo says.

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

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

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

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

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m n-”

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

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

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

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

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

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

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

strawberry vanilla soda.

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

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

His eyes widened.

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

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

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

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

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

He regrets pushing you away.

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

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

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

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

➸ take me to chapter eight!

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

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megalony · 2 months ago

Text

Our Army

This is a new Eddie Diaz imagine based on a lovely anon request, and an idea I had. I hope you will all like it, feedback always makes me smile.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 2

Part 3

Summary: When (Y/n) brings up the subject of more kids, her and Eddie seemed to have mixed opinions which leads to a small disagreement. And an eventful night with their kids.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) tilted her head down and braced her hands on the sink. She could feel herself beginning to shake, but the overwhelming urge to be sick slowly started to disipate the longer (Y/n) stayed locked in place.

The cold air of the bathroom started to make her feel better and stopped her body from feeling like it was burning up. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, despite the cold sweat that broke out on her body a few minutes ago.

If this wasn't an incentive to talk to Eddie, then (Y/n) didn't know what was.

The panic she had been feeling for the last few days had been keeping her up at night. She didn't know how to approach the subject or what Eddie's reaction would be and it was increasing her nerves and making her feel worse.

Her stomach slowly started to settle and she shifted her weight from foot to foot but when she opened her eyes, she could still feel the bathroom spinning in circles around her.

She almost jumped out of her skin when there was a curt knock on the door before it was being pushed open.

There were six of them in the house and one bathroom, it was hard to find a moment to go to the bathroom without being disturbed or having to wait or push in front of someone. And none of them ever locked the door anymore if they were going for a bath or a shower because someone always needed the toilet.

(Y/n) quickly turned the tap on and began to wash her hands, trying to hold her breath at the same time to make herself feel a bit better.

She looked towards the door when Amelia leaned against it, one hand gripping the door handle while the other moved to cradle her temple.

"Mum? I have a headache again."

She knew what that meant. (Y/n) looked at her eldest who was practically leaning on the door, barely able to open her eyes. She looked like she was about to fall asleep standing up, but the look in her eyes clearly showed she was uncomfortable and didn't feel well.

(Y/n) made quick work of drying her hands, but she still felt queasy herself. She ran her damp hand through her hair and looked over at her daughter.

"Go see dad, he'll get your meds."

The twelve year old shuffled away almost immediately, aiming for the kitchen where they both knew Eddie was washing up. Amelia had epilepsy and usually, a bad headache could be a sign that she might have a seizure, therefore they had a lot of different medications for her.

Amelia had meds she would take once in a morning and once at night, every day, which were to ward off seizures. She had emergency meds to administer if she was in the middle of a bad seizure that wouldn't stop. And they had some 'as and when' medication that she could take when she felt like she might have a seizure. They often helped her go to sleep or feel settled and sometimes they would prevent seizures, but not always.

All the meds were kept in the kitchen cupboard and right now (Y/n) had a headache too. She wasn't sure she could scramble through all the meds in the cupboard to find the right ones whereas Eddie was there right now.

Trudging down the hall, Amelia leaned close to the wall but she could barely open her eyes when she got to the kitchen. The lights were too bright. She had a dimer light in her bedroom and a lava lamp which was pale green and worked better for her migraines than having a bright lamp on. It was a good job she didn't share a room with Chris because he had LED lights around his tv and fairy lights around his bed.

"Dad, mum said you'd get my meds for me."

Eddie glanced down at his watch before he looked over his shoulder, but when he realised his daughter looked like she was practically sleep walking, he frowned.

He swiped his hands up and down his jeans to dry them before he walked over to her. He went to tilt her head back but his lips rolled together when she pushed forward and buried her face in his chest instead. He breathed through a sigh and cupped the back of her neck, kissing her temple while he stretched his left hand out and opened the top cupboard.

"How bad you feeling, carino?" He murmured against the top of her head while he found the little grey basket where they kept all the meds specifically for Amelia.

"Drowsy… can I go to bed?"

Eddie's eyes widened at her words. She had to be feeling bad if she wanted to go to bed early.

Looking through the basket, Eddie found her usual twice-daily meds and popped one on the counter before he rummaged around for her other medication. He didn't think giving her two would be a good idea if she was tired and when she was going to have her usual meds if she wanted to go to sleep. One would be enough to make her feel a bit better and calm her mind enough to go to sleep.

He detached from her to fill a glass with water and held it out to her as she slouched against the counter.

"There you go, I'll come check on you both in a bit." Eddie had already put Tilly to bed since the toddler had fallen to sleep. But he would check on both girls in a while, it wasn't unusual for Amelia to struggle to sleep or seize before she went to sleep.

Once she'd taken her meds, Amelia waited for Eddie to kiss her temple before she shuffled back down the hall towards her and Tilly's bedroom. She would probably put her headphones on for a while and lay in bed.

Eddie grabbed a drink from the fridge before he wandered into the living room. This was strange. All the kids were in their rooms, Tilly was asleep, Amelia was about to go to bed and both Paul and Chris were in their room watching a movie. Although Eddie was sure Paul would be asleep by now too as he had been nodding off earlier.

He sat on the sofa and flicked through the channels, it felt weird to be able to choose a programme to watch rather than having the tv overrun with cartoons or kids movies.

A soft grin spread across his features when he heard footsteps and he looked to see (Y/n) aiming his way. He lifted his arm, shivering when she sat down next to him and instantly cuddled up into his side. When he felt her lips attaching to the side of his neck, Eddie kissed the top of her head and tightened his arm around her waist.

He could feel her fingertips gliding across his chest, drawing patterns into his shirt like she was trying to send him secret messages.

"Lia okay?" (Y/n) murmured against his neck, feeling the way Eddie's breaths became deeper beneath her lips.

"Yeah, she's gone to bed. Wanna watch a movie?" Again, it felt strange to say that to (Y/n) rather than to the kids. The only times they watched movies together, alone, was when the kids were at school and they had a day off together or when all the kids went to (Y/n)'s parents for the weekend.

(Y/n) leaned her cheek on his shoulder and brought her knees up so they were pressing into Eddie's thigh. She wormed her left arm between his back and the sofa as she tried to calm down her heartbeat that was becoming erratic with nerves.

"Sure."

With all the kids asleep or just generally settled in bed, this would give (Y/n) a good opportunity to talk to Eddie. She wanted to have this conversation when the two of them were home alone, without the kids nearby to risk hearing the conversation. But this was better than nothing and none of the kids could hear them unless they came running into the living room.

(Y/n) couldn't go another night thinking about this and not talking it through with Eddie, the anxiety was eating away at her.

"Babe…" She kept her cheek on his shoulder so she didn't have to look up at him and her eyes focused on the tv where Eddie was scrolling through some of the movies they had recorded. There was a whole list of movies they wanted to watch but hadn't gotten around to yet.

"Hm?" The vibration of his voice sent shivers through (Y/n) and she felt him kiss the top of her head while he selected a random movie from the list.

"You know when you were talking to Buck last week?"

"You'll have to remind me what conversation you're referring to, amor." Eddie could feel a grin spreading across his lips, despite not knowing what (Y/n) was talking about yet.

He had so many strange, random and ludicris conversations with Buck almost every day that it was impossible to remember them all. And he didn't have a clue which conversations (Y/n) or the kids might have heard or which one she was thinking of right now.

"When Buck said we have a full army of kids," (Y/n) smiled at the memory. Buck wanted them to take the kids to a zoo out of town and, being Buck, he had been looking at tickets already. He found it would be cheaper to get two family tickets as if two of Eddie and (Y/n)'s four kids were Buck's, then it would be cheaper.

A lot of the team had often said Eddie had his own little army or football team since they had four kids and none of them ever meant anything bad by it. Eddie was proud to be the one with the most kids out of their work-family.

"Oh, yeah, he wants to go to the zoo next week. Why?"

"Well, I just… you said you love having a big army. Do you think about having anymore?" (Y/n) did her best to hide the unease from her voice and kept her eyes set on the tv that was just starting to show the beginning of the horror movie Eddie had chosen.

She felt Eddie's arm shift around her waist and his hand moved to feather up and down her hip and she wasn't sure whether the chuckle he let out into her hair was a good sign or not.

"What, more kids than we already have?" He mumbled for confirmation while his eyes drifted between (Y/n) and the movie.

"Yeah, well, another baby." (Y/n) leaned back and pushed up off Eddie's chest so she could be level with him and gauge for his reaction. The laugh and shake of his head wasn't what she had been hoping for.

"Fuck, no."

A jolt surged through (Y/n)'s heart like she had been charged with electricity and a quiet 'oh' tumbled past her lips. She quickly dropped back down, landing her cheek on his shoulder again with a thump while she shifted her arms to wrap them around her chest rather than around Eddie.

That wasn't the reaction she had prayed to see; it was what she had been worried about.

She felt Eddie's hand on her waist give her a squeeze, but she ignored the touch and tried to focus on the tv. She wasn't sure what to do now. (Y/n) had come up with all sorts of responses and questions and things to say if Eddie had this kind of reaction, but now, her mind was blank. Everything had flown out of her head and all she could think about was the way her stomach was churning and her throat felt like it was closing up.

"Amor?" Eddie pressed a kiss to her hairline and tucked his chin into his neck so he could try and look down at her.

(Y/n) tried to mutter 'forget it' but her voice caught in her throat and she realised her eyes were watering. Eddie didn't like the lack of response, he could feel his chest tightening up and when he looked down at his wife, he paused the tv. He had a feeling he'd just said something utterly wrong.

The moment the movie was paused, (Y/n) swung her legs over the side of the sofa and got to her feet. She swiped her hand beneath her eyes but it didn't stop the tears that started to cascade down her face.

She wasn't sure where she was going and she knew she couldn't go into their room because then they would be closer to the kids. And if this turned into an argument, (Y/n) didn't want the kids catching wind of the conversation.

She aimed for the kitchen instead and briskly yanked open the fridge so harshly the door clattered against the wall. (Y/n) darted her watering eyes around the fridge, unsure what she was looking for and she settled on taking the juice, she may as well make herself a drink while she was trying to stay distracted.

"Baby, are you gonna talk to me?" Eddie followed her into the kitchen and propped his hip against the sink, but his eyes narrowed when he watched (Y/n).

She was shaking.

His lips formed a frown and he leaned over and gently took the juice bottle from her and poured it instead. But he didn't like the way (Y/n) twisted away from him or how she kept her eyes focused on the counter rather than him when he slid the glass across to her.

"Just forget it. It's okay." (Y/n) took a deep breath and tried to raise the glass to her lips, but her hands were still shaking and one mouthful made her sure she was going to throw up.

"No, let's not forget it, talk to me."

She did her best to continue looking down at the counter, but a shiver crawled over her skin when Eddie leaned closer to her. His hand gently tucked beneath her chin and tilted her head in his direction, but the moment Eddie's eyes set on the tears tracing down her cheeks, his gut pulled in. A groan caught in the back of his throat and he traced his thumb across her lower lip while he leaned closer and pecked her temple.

"Fuck, amor I've clearly said something wrong here." Tilting his head down, he pressed his temple against hers and nudged their noses together.

He hated to see (Y/n) cry, and knowing he had said something to make her upset made Eddie feel sick. He didn't want to upset her and he hadn't meant to upset her. He didn't think she was being serious about having a baby, he presumed she was just striking up conversation since Buck had made that passing comment last week.

Moving his hands up, he gently but firmly cupped (Y/n)'s face in his hands with his thumbs grazing across her cheekbones just beneath her eyes. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips just as he felt (Y/n)'s hands reach up to grip his wrists. He feared for a moment that she was going to pull away from his touch, but she seemed to hold him tighter as if making sure he wasn't going to take a step away.

"Mi amor, do you really want another baby?"

His voice was so gentle and sweet that it caused more tears to fall down (Y/n)'s face. She did her best to hold herself together but she couldn't look him in the eye. Not when those brown eyes were so caring and full of worry and confusion.

She had never said anything to him about wanting another child and Eddie hadn't given it much thought. They had two girls and two boys, and Tilly hadn't exactly been planned. It just seemed like an unspoken agreement between them that their family was perfect just the way it was and they were happy with the brood they had.

Eddie hadn't thought about having another baby, it never really crossed his mind to be something to contemplate.

"That's not- not the point," She held her voice together just enough to stop from breaking apart or having her tone come out scratchy and off pitch.

"Okay, then what is? Hm, talk to me baby." Again, his tone was gentle and understanding and (Y/n) wished she could just project her thoughts into his mind already so she didn't have to actually tell him. But if she didn't tell him, nothing was going to make sense and they needed to talk about this.

"I'm already pregnant."

She didn't dare lift her eyes any higher than Eddie's chin, too afraid of the reaction she was going to see. She focused on watching his jaw click from side to side, ignoring how his lips were starting to part and move without actually saying anything. And she didn't want to think about the emotions that would be circling around in his pupils right now.

(Y/n) found out a few days ago that she was pregnant, and they hadn't exactly been trying for a baby this time around. They had been happy every other time, even with Tilly when she had been a real surprise, considering they didn't find out until (Y/n) was over fifteen weeks along. And they already had three kids at that point.

She knew that one more wouldn't change things too much, but it was going to be harder with five kids. It wouldn't be impossible, but it wouldn't exactly be easy, and it wasn't as if they could just say no and turn back now.

(Y/n) didn't realise she was shaking Eddie's wrists she was gripping tightly until he carefully broke his wrists out of her grasp. She feared for a few seconds that he was going to walk away from her and the thought made her heart leap up into her throat.

But instead of pulling away, Eddie wormed his arms around her waist instead. He spread his hands out on her back and pulled her into him while he tucked his face into the crook of her neck.

She looped her shaking arms around the back of his neck, but when Eddie felt her sniff and try to gain a proper breath, he pulled back. He looked down at her, resting his temple down on hers while his arms gave her a loving squeeze.

"Hey, no tears mi amor. This is good news."

"What?" She swiped her hand beneath her eyes to dry away the tears she couldn't help but shed. Her eyes filled with curiosity. Eddie had already said he didn't want more kids, she didn't want him to pretend or try and say what she wanted to hear if he didn't mean it.

"You know I love how you look when you're pregnant. And the kids mean the world to me, I love our army." His smile was genuine but it only seemed to multiply the confusion bubbling up inside of (Y/n).

"But you said-"

"I was wrong. Amor I didn't mean it like that, I swear. I just- Dios, I worry, okay? This is the best job I've had but it's demanding, and I wanna be here for you and the kids. I don't wanna leave you struggling with five kids if I'm at work and I wanna be here for them." He felt the way her chest fluttered when he moved his hand to place his palm delicately on her stomach. "All of them."

The kids meant everything to Eddie; he loved their family and he was proud of it. But this was a demanding job, it meant he didn't always get the day off for the kid's birthdays or school events. He couldn't be home to put them to bed every night. He couldn't make all of their hospital appointments and he didn't always find out about Amelia's seizures until he came home if (Y/n) couldn't get hold of him.

Eddie worried that another baby would mean he might not be able to split himself between (Y/n) and all the kids. He didn't want to make her do all the work like his father had done with his mother. His father barely raised him or his sisters at all and Eddie strived to be different.

He wanted to be there for everything with the kids, another baby just meant he would have to try a bit harder and would have another person to cherish and be there for.

(Y/n) could feel a tepid smile working its way onto her lips, despite the unease she was still feeling. She didn't want to think that Eddie was saying what she wanted to hear and she didn't want to imagine him not wanting this baby.

But his smile said different; his smile said he was instantly warming up to the idea. The way he leaned down and stole a kiss from her lips made (Y/n) feel the warmth radiating off of him and she could feel the love he was pouring into his touch. He was practically bruising her lips to transfer every emotion he had onto her.

"You- you mean it? You really want another baby?" She breathed against his lips, inhaling each gasp of air he took as she moved her hand to cradle the side of his neck.

"I wanna have another baby in my arms again. You know I always miss that feeling." When they had Tilly, Eddie thought she would be their last. He thought he wouldn't have that feeling again of having a newborn snuggled up on his chest or a toddler running around crying for his attention.

He thought the late night feeds and cuddles were over. He thought he wouldn't witness anymore first words or first steps or see himself pushing another pram. Or jogging round the neighbourhood with a newborn in a pram to settle them and do his exercises.

But he could already feel the adrenaline sparking in his stomach at the thought of doing all of those things again. All the things he loved but thought they were finished with.

"Come on."

(Y/n)'s breath hitched in her throat when Eddie's hands wandered down to cup her thighs and he hoisted her up until she was perched on his waist. Her arms stayed looped around his neck and she tucked her face into the crook of his shoulder while he walked them out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

She could feel herself calming down immensely by the time they were sat in the living room again. All the nerves that had bubbled up in her stomach started to fizzle out and disipate and the panic she felt earlier had been forgotten.

Eddie laid out on the sofa with his feet pressed up against the opposite arm rest and (Y/n) laid between his legs. He had one arm bent behind his head, propping his head up so he didn't fall asleep during the movie, and his other arm was bound around (Y/n)'s waist.

She was laid on her side, her face burrowed down into Eddie's chest with one hand scrunched up in his shirt. It was hard to keep her eyes open when she was tired enough to fall asleep right here like this, especially when a jump scare happened in the movie and she hid her face in Eddie's chest.

She knew there had been a reason he chose this movie. Eddie liked horror movies, he loved the gore, the dark scenes didn't bother him and the storylines never seemed to scare him. But he loved how each little jump got to (Y/n), even if she wasn't necessarily frightened, just not expecting it. He loved when she would hide away behind him or burrow into him like this.

"You still awake?" Eddie murmured softly, running his hand up and down her back and over the curve of her hip. The movie had almost ended by now, they had about twenty minutes left, if that and Eddie knew they would probably go and watch a movie in bed after this. One they had seen before and could easily fall asleep to.

(Y/n) hummed quietly and kissed his chest through his shirt before she nuzzled her cheek into his chest and wriggled to get comfy again.

She liked the feeling of Eddie's fingers ghosting up and down her waist and along her back, even though the touch was distracting her from the movie somewhat.

Eddie kissed the top of her head before he pushed his chest up into her so he could lean and take a look over the back of the sofa. He heard one of the bedroom doors open. He couldn't see which kid it was who had gotten up, but when he heard the bathroom light click on, he turned back to focus on the tv. If one of them was going to the toilet they wouldn't need him or (Y/n). It would only be if they couldn't get back to sleep or had a nightmare that they would need some help.

He went back to kissing the top of (Y/n)'s head, burying his lips into her hair for a few minutes. He could just have fallen asleep and he tilted his head back into the crook of his elbow propped up behind his head.

He was sure he was about to nod off then and there, but his attention peaked when one of the bedroom doors creaked open again. His ears tuned in to the quiet noises coming from the hallway and he tried to decipher which of their kids it was and what they were doing. But when the sound of bare feet shuffling against the laminate floor caught his attention, Eddie peaked behind the sofa again.

"Why aren't you in bed?" His voice was quiet and a bit croaky but he smiled when he watched Paul shuffle towards the end of the sofa where Eddie and (Y/n)'s feet were tangled together.

Eddie's leg jerked when Paul gently grabbed his bare foot and started moving it from side to side. Clearly the five year old was trying to distract himself and make sure he wasn't in trouble for being out of bed.

"What's up baby?" (Y/n) rubbed her eyes and twisted to look over at Paul, he looked like he had been asleep for a while. He could barely keep his eyes open and he was swaying back and forth from his heels to his toes.

"Need toilet, but Lia's asleep on the toilet." Paul timidly let go of Eddie's foot and pointed back towards the hallway.

It wasn't often that Paul or Chris woke during the night for the toilet, they could usually go all night without needing to go. But it was just his luck that when Paul got up to go, he opened the bathroom door to find his big sister already in there. He had been rather unsure why she seemed to be fast asleep sat on the toilet and although he didn't want to stray since he was tired, he needed to go.

(Y/n) tilted her head back to look up at Eddie, but he wore the same confused look as she did.

Amelia wasn't one for falling asleep just anywhere, and she had certainly never fallen asleep on the toilet before. This wasn't like her, clearly she wasn't feeling well tonight.

"I'll go see what she's doing." She felt Eddie's hands on her hips as she wriggled around and slowly heaved onto her feet.

As quick as lightning, Paul scuttled onto the sofa and took (Y/n)'s place barely a second after she vacated Eddie's lap. As if he was keeping her seat warm for her. He clambered between Eddie's legs and slumped into his abdomen with a thud, curling up like a little fox while Eddie wrapped his arms around his youngest boy.

Another headache began to stir behind (Y/n)'s eyes but she tried her best to push the feeling aside. It would probably be because she was tired and needed to get some sleep, combined with all the mixed emotions she had been feeling tonight.

Her hand moved to cradle her temple as she walked down the dark hallway. They never left the lights on in the hall because it annoyed all the kids to see the light streaming through the gap beneath the doors. Especially when they usually had to leave the boy's bedroom door open ajar. Both boys liked it open because they liked their parents to check in on them during the night.

When she reached the bathroom, (Y/n) gently tapped her knuckles on the door before she peeked her head round.

"Lia, baby you okay?"

As Paul said, there was Amelia sat on the toilet which was in the left-corner of the room. She was slumped to the left, her head slumped into the wall and her arms limp on her lap. The eldest looked like she had fallen asleep, but (Y/n) could hear her murmuring something.

Confusion pooled on (Y/n)'s face as she headed over towards her daughter and crouched down to the side of her. She tried to be cautious when she rested her hands on Amelia's thighs, but she frowned. Her legs were stiff and tense. They felt like they were made out of wood.

"Lia?" She brushed her thumbs along Amelia's thighs and gently shook her to try and get her attention. But when her legs suddenly kicked out and held straight like planks, (Y/n) froze.

A horrid trembling set in Amelia's body and her feet curled and bent inwards towards one another like she was a ballerina. Her legs began to rattle up and down which caused the toilet seat to tremor and jerk like it was about to snap off. And both hands, still on her thighs, started to curl and her fingers twitched inwards towards her palms.

She was having a seizure.

Her chin was dithering up and down against her chest and she was no longer mumbling or muttering anything. Her back began to slam back against the toilet which made (Y/n) wince; that was going to give her bruises.

Her body went from side to side and the way she had her legs held straight made her lift up off the toilet slightly. She wasn't going to balance like this for long.

Reaching up, (Y/n) moved her hands to try and wrap them carefully around her daughter's waist to keep her steady. It didn't work very well when Amelia thrashed back into the toilet, knocking the lid before she started to tumble to the right.

"Fuck- ow, Eddie! Babe!" (Y/n)'s head snapped back when Amelia's temple crashed into hers and almost knocked her out.

Her legs bent awkwardly beneath her and her heels touched the back of her thighs as she toppled backwards onto the floor. (Y/n) managed to keep her arms around her daughter's waist and she landed on top of her mum with a thump.

Twisting to the left, she tried to be careful and eased Amelia onto her side so she wasn't laying on top of her. An elbow to the stomach wasn't going to be a good idea right now.

"Alright baby, i-it's alright." (Y/n) huffed and rolled onto her knees, feeling the sudden urge to be sick but she tried her best to ignore it.

Her hands trembled as she leaned up on her knees and reached down for Amelia's legs. Her underwear and pyjama bottoms were hanging around her lower legs, that wouldn't be a good feeling if she woke up like that and (Y/n) doubted she would want Eddie seeing her like that either. She managed to drag Amelia's bottoms back up her tense thighs, snapping the elastic around her hips just as Eddie blundered into the room.

"Oh fuck!"

Eddie scrambled into the room and went down on his knees beside (Y/n), his hands hurriedly reaching out for Amelia. He cradled the back of her neck and held her thigh so he could ease her onto her left side so her back was facing them. His thumb brushed across her skin when she began to drool and he leaned over her to check she wasn't choking when her breathing sounded like she was wheezing. But her airways were clear.

"She started seizing on the toilet?" It was more of a question than a statement because Eddie hadn't known their daughter to do this before. But then again, she had told them tonight that she didn't feel well.

Migraines and a general unease usually meant Amelia could feel a seizure building up, she just didn't know when they would happen. Clearly, this one had been building up for a while.

"I think she's had an absent one and then gone into this one." (Y/n) ran her hand up and down Amelia's waist while Eddie held the back of her neck and her upper arm to keep her in place.

But he noticed (Y/n) move to rub her temple and subsequently wince. "You okay?" He huffed, tensing his arms to try and hold their daughter steady so she didn't writhe or hurt herself.

"She clocked me when she fell into me, I'm alright." She felt Eddie's eyes raking over her to double check for himself before he looked back down at Amelia.

"Alright carino, you're doing great. Almost over now." He hushed as he leaned over her and pecked the side of her head. She wasn't writhing as much now, but her legs were still as straight as planks and her hands were digging into her lower chest. Both hands curled and fingers bent at odd angles which could make her muscles cramp when this seizure was finally over.

"Daddy…"

Eddie's head snapped to look over his shoulder and his lips pursed when he saw Paul leaning around the doorframe.

"Go wait in your room please buddy, Lia's not well tonight." All the kids had seen Amelia have seizures. She'd been having them since she was two so Chris, Paul and Tilly were growing up around them. It was a normality for them and they all knew what to do. They hadn't seen her have a bad seizure in over a year.

The last time that happened was when they were all at a party at Bobby and Athena's place. Amelia started biting her tongue and began choking and the seizure had been bad enough for them to have to take her to hospital.

"But I need the toilet," Paul fidgeted from foot to foot and scrunched his nose up. He didn't want to get in the way but he needed to go.

"Paul." The warning tone in Eddie's voice made the five year old shiver, but he stomped his foot in defiance.

"Daddy!" His sister wasn't using the toilet. She was on the floor now and Paul wouldn't get in their way, but he had to go or he would pee himself.

He watched the way Eddie growled and shook his head before he looked over at (Y/n). Both parents shared a look before Eddie hooked his right arm over Amelia's waist while (Y/n) held her legs. On the count of three, they carefully pulled her back, sliding her across the floor three feet towards the door so they were all away from the toilet.

Eddie clicked his fingers and pointed to the toilet, watching Paul scuttle over with a look of relief, despite the unease and panic floating around in his eyes. He tried to be quick, and he nodded when he heard (Y/n) murmur "Back to bed please," when he was done. He wouldn't hang around, he didn't like seeing his sister have a fit, it wasn't pretty.

"There we go. You back with us, carino?" Eddie kissed her temple slowly while he ran his hand up and down her arm when the trembling and jerking finally stopped.

It was as if she had been cast under a spell. Amelia's arms went slack against the floor instead of being held rigid near her chest and her fingers stayed curled into her palms, but all her muscles began to relax. Her legs finally ceased holding straight and her knees bent as her thighs slumped against the floor like she had passed out. But they could hear her trying to mutter something, but it only came out as little croaks and hums.

Amelia rubbed her cheek against the floor, trying to turn and look behind her where she could feel both parents knelt down with her. But she could barely open her eyes. The bathroom light was far too bright and she settled on keeping her eyes closed while she coiled her trembling arms closer to her chest.

"Do you feel alright?" (Y/n) glided her hand up and down Amelia's thigh, suddenly feeling exhausted herself.

"Better… want- want to go to bed." She could scarcely get the words out and it was clear in her expression that she was halfway between conscious and sleep already. She didn't feel sick, for once, she didn't feel tense or like she was going to be stuck with tensed muscles for hours and she didn't feel like she was about to go back into another seizure.

She was tired. She was drained and limp and overwrought, she just wanted to go to sleep.

A breathless chuckle left Eddie's lips and he hung his head for a moment before he leaned over her. "Alright carino, let's get you back to bed." He ran his hand up and down her arm before he carefully turned her so she was laid on her back rather than her side. He was pleased to see her arms were no longer taut and pulled tight and she wasn't trembling anymore, she had gone limp which meant the effects were wearing off.

"Eddie, if she has another in her sleep, we took the guard off…" (Y/n) looked up at him and moved her hand to his arm.

This was the first time Amelia had had a seizure on the toilet and that could imply she might have another at some point during the night, especially since she hadn't been feeling well this afternoon. (Y/n) didn't like the thought of putting Amelia to bed and wondering if it might happen again. If they did that they would have to be in and out of the girl's room every hour to check on her.

She watched Eddie lean back on his heels while his hand swiped across his jaw and chin in thought.

Growing up, all the kids used to have night guards on the side of their beds, it was a mesh frame attached to the side of the bed so if they turned over, they weren't at risk of falling out. When Amelia got diagnosed, they kept the guard on her bed as she got older so if she seized during the night, she wouldn't hurt herself or tumble out of bed.

Even though she was twelve now, they had only recently taken the guard off her bed because of how often she had seizures. And they only took it off because Amelia asked them to; she felt safe with it, but she didn't want friends coming over and seeing that she still had one. Not when her little sister also had one and it made her look childish if people didn't know why it was there.

"We might have to put it back for a while." If she had any more late night fits, Eddie would consider putting the guard back on her bed for a while, to be safe. "She can stay with us tonight."

Having her sleep in their room would save them going in and out of the girl's room to check on her and it meant Tilly wouldn't be disturbed tonight.

Eddie tried to be careful as he wound Amelia's arms loosely around the back of his neck and he shifted from his knees onto his feet. He eased her up into his arms, grinning to himself when she nuzzled her face into his shoulder. It was as if she was five years old again, begging to be carried around everywhere they went.

He felt (Y/n)'s hand on his lower back as she followed him down the hall towards their room. Once he walked inside, (Y/n) weaved round him and sat down on the bed to help him lay Amelia down in the middle.

It made them both smile to see her wriggle beneath the covers almost immediately. Her knees stayed curled up near her stomach and something told Eddie that it must feel better to have her legs curled, she had probably strained her muscles straightening them out the way she did during her seizure. She laid on her side, humming when (Y/n) kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her waist to hug her.

(Y/n) kissed her temple again, then her cheek, but she looked up when she felt Eddie sit down on the edge of the bed. He ran his hand up and down Amelia's arm, but he looked like he was lost in thought.

Reaching across, (Y/n) gently nudged his arm, her smile silently asking what was on his mind.

"Just thinking… I might put a handrail up in the bathroom, and one in the shower. In case this happens again."

(Y/n) nodded, that seemed like a safe idea. If there was a small hand rail on the wall next to the toilet, Amelia could grab it if she felt a seizure coming. She could use it to safely get onto the floor, the same if she felt a seizure coming when she was in the shower. She only ever had a bath if either parent stayed in the bathroom with her, it was too dangerous to take a bath alone in case she seized and went under the water.

At least with a few rails dotted around it might be a bit safer and easier for her, and it would also be a safety measure for Chris. He had quite good balance but it was better to be safe than sorry.

With a smile, Eddie swung his legs round and stretched out on the bed, looping his arm around (Y/n)'s shoulders with Amelia wedged happily between them. He looked between both girls as he turned the tv on and leaned to pepper a few kisses against (Y/n)'s temple.

"We might need a bigger bed too… don't think we can get five kids in here with us."

#eddie diaz x reader #911 imagine #imagine #pregnant! reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #eddie diaz family #eddie diaz

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zaynemybeloved · 1 month ago

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Breathe, Love.

aka, you're having a panic attack and the boys try to help.

These are just my headcanons, so I'm sorry if these are ooc for anyone.

Warnings: mental health, panic attacks, brief mention of psychogenic (non-epileptic) seizures, if anything else needs to be tagged please let me know.

Rafayel

🖌️ Would try to distract you with his sass and dramatics.

🖌️ "How does my bodyguard end up being the one who needs guarding? I'm supposed to be the vulnerable one here!"

🖌️ The smirk on his face says he's not being serious, but if in your anxiety riddled state you don't seem to respond well he would change his approach.

🖌️ "Hey, just breathe with me, okay? In... Out..."

🖌️ He would try to do breathing exercises to get you to a stable point, mostly unsure what to do.

🖌️ He might not be able to do much, but he's trying. He doesn't want his cutie to be upset.

🖌️ Would try to research how to help, just in case it happens again.

Sylus

🪶 "Kitten. Breathe."

🪶 His voice doesn't have the bite it usually does. Surprisingly gentle sounding as he looks at you with concern written on his face.

🪶 He would 100% know what happens in these episodes and what works and doesn't work for most people.

🪶 All kinds of grounding techniques on standby in his mind. He would probably start with the 5 senses one, honestly. I feel like he'd gently grab your hand or wrist for the touch part.

🪶 Would have Luke and Kieran go to get you some water and a blanket.

🪶 "Did someone do something or is it unprompted?"

🪶 If someone caused the anxiety attack they would be dealt with swiftly, otherwise he would be getting you in touch with one of the best psychiatric professionals he knows of.

Xavier

☄️ "Starshine, what's wrong?"

☄️ Concerned and caught off guard he would be trying to figure out what's going on. Once he figures it out though he would immediately jump to action.

☄️ He hates seeing you cry, so he wants to do what he can.

☄️ I feel like he would be the type to wrap his arms around you and press into you, acting like your own personal weighted blanket. Unless you don't want that, then he would settle for gently rubbing your back or arm.

☄️ "You're here with me, you're safe. There is no danger."

☄️Would definitely be the type to talk you through the attack, giving you something to focus on that isn't the tightening of your muscles and the pounding of your heart.

☄️ Something tells me he has experience with dealing with panic attacks, but a fairly limited experience.

Zayne

❄️ Knows the look you have right before a panic attack starts.

❄️ The most prepared of them all, but also likely the least hands on.

❄️ "It's okay, just focus on your breathing. Let it out, love."

❄️ Has water on standby, and would only touch you as a means of stopping you if you start to subconsciously harm yourself in the midst of the attack.

❄️ Would know exactly what to do if you happen to start shaking or twitching. He would remain calm during the episode which would be helpful at not increasing the distress you're under.

❄️ "You're doing good. I'm proud of you. Keep breathing, you've got this."

❄️ Absolutely going to put you on an anxiolytic and get you in touch with a therapist.

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

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a-whisper-in-the-forest · 5 months ago

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Coffees and tips

Civilian sighs as they wipe down the counter of the coffeeshop they work at. It's in a beautiful location on a not too busy street, and is known for its rather villainous clientele. Most people would turn the job down because of that last little detail, but Civilian would take villains over heroes any day.

Just the thought of their previous job at the hero-café made their skin crawl. Heroes would always assume they have some sort of special privilege. Most villains are less arrogant and leave better tips.

"Uhm, hello?” A voice brings them back to reality. “Yes?” they reply in their sweet, automatic customer service voice. “I think whatever is in the oven, is ready,” the stranger says, pointing to the oven behind the counter. “Oh, right…” they sigh, still not moving. It has been a long day.

“Maybe you should look…”

“Oh, shit!”

As they turn around, they can see smoke coming from the oven. They quickly turn it off and open it to reveal a bunch of burnt muffins. “Shit,” they swear as they put down the tray with the ruined baked goods. “I completely forgot about them.”

“Clearly,” Villain smiles at Civilian. “Would you like something else?” Civilian asks, hoping the Villain forgets about the muffins. Maybe if they change the subject, the criminal might forget this embarrassment.

“A coffee with sugar and no milk, please,” Villain answers without dropping their smile. “To go?” Civilian answers hoping the blush that is creeping up their neck quickly disappears. “No, I am waiting for someone to meet me here.”

“Oh, alright. You can pay over there and leave a tip if you'd like.” Civilian starts making the coffee and hopes that the Villain would forget about the muffins soon and just focus on their friend. They start making a plan to get rid of the burnt goods as subtle and quickly as possible. If they dump it in the trash and bring the baking tray to the kitchen they should be able to hide it from everyone. Damn it, how could they lose focus like that? They could've burned the entire café down. They were lucky Villain walked in…

They go grab Villain's receipt after they gave them their coffee and look at the amount they tipped. Their mouth falls open in shock. A 200 dollar tip on a 4 dollar coffee?! They look at Villain who found a comfortable spot in the meantime. Villain smiles back and winks at them. “I felt like you could use a little something to brighten your day!” They say loudly from their seat.

Civilian doesn't have time to answer as a new customer walks in. Unlike the Villain, this person has an arrogance in their step that makes Civilian hate them immediately. Arrogance that is peculiar to heroes. Even if they don't like them, they don't let it be known. Their sweet customer service voice gives nothing away. “Welcome! What can I get you today?”

The Hero in front of them gives an annoyed glare. “You can give me a coffee with almond, goat and cashew milk. Throw in 3 pumps of vanilla, 5 pumps of espresso, 2 tablespoons of honey and 1 teaspoon of demerara sugar.” Civilian has a slight seizure trying to understand the order. “Sure…right away. You can pay over there and leave a tip if you'd like,” they anwer, gesturing to the terminal. Hero huffs and gets their card out of their wallet. Meanwhile, Civilian is trying to find all the ingredients to Hero's coffee. Why were heroes always so specific about their coffee? Why couldn't they keep it simple like the villains? Villains were so much easier to work for. Plus, they got paid a lot more.

They finish the coffee and take a look at the receipt. A 11 dollar coffee with… no tip. They threw Hero an angry look. Oh, they definitely prefer villains.

A few minutes later they finish cleaning the burnt tray and walk out of the kitchen to see Hero yelling at Villain. Villain on the other hand, is just sitting grinning smugly at the Hero. “Ugh! I can't believe this!” They cry out and storm off. Civilian watches as Hero almost runs out of the street. Villain is just laughing silently to themselves. After they finish their coffee they walk back to the counter, both theirs and Hero's mug in hand.

“Thanks for the amazing coffee. I hope I see you around, you do a great job,” Villain says as they place the mugs on the counter. “Thanks,” Civilian mutters. “Hey, what was going on between you and Hero?” They ask. They rarely see a Hero freak out like that in public. “Oh, they are just mad that their sidekick chose our side. They asked me to bring them back to the Agency but I refused. They'll get over it, don't worry.” Villain answers casually. “Well, see you later!” They say over their shoulder as they leave.

It's only when Civilian is cleaning up the mugs that they find the money Villain left alongside a note:

Sorry for Hero. Take the money as an apology for the yelling and as their tip. I will have to come back soon though because now I've got a taste and want more.

Yours truly

Villain

Why does the possible return of the Villain make them feel something funny in their stomach?

Part 2

Hi! This one has been laying around for a long time and I finally decided to finish it. I struggled a bit at first but I think I like the way it came out. (I'm probably going to hate it tomorrow, but that's a problem for later)

My asks are open for any requests! I did one recently and I absolutly loved doing it. So please, give me something to write!

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #snippet #villain x hero #my writing #writing #villain x civilian #writblr #writeblr #writers of tumblr

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steddiehyperfixation · 1 year ago

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don't you forget about me (part three)

(part one)(part two)

Everyone’s left to “let him get some rest,” but Eddie doesn’t rest, not really. Although he does drift off the second he closes his eyes, his sleep is not restful and his dreams are plagued:

Chrissy Cunningham stood in his trailer, small blonde girl in her cheerleader uniform. If Eddie hadn’t only just come out of his room with an unopened baggie of ketamine, he might’ve thought she’d already overdosed. Her eyes were rolled back, body frozen stiff like she was having some sort of seizure. Eddie shouted at her, shook her shoulders, waved his hands and snapped his fingers in front of her face, but Chrissy didn’t respond. He feared she might collapse, but then she did something much, much worse: she began to levitate.

Eddie immediately let go of her shoulders and scrambled back as some invisible force slammed the girl into the ceiling. Her bones snapped; one at a time, her arms and legs twisted in unnatural angles. Her jaw unhinged and cracked out of place, her mouth now stuck in a horrible, soundless scream. Her eyes bled, dripping red down her cheeks, and then they exploded, popped with a sickening squelching sound, and her eyelids caved in to empty, bloody sockets.

Eddie wakes up screaming. His heart pounds frantically, the monitor beeping like crazy, and all his muscles are tense like he’s ready to run.

Someone is at his side immediately; a gentle hand slips into his own, a soothing voice asks if he’s alright and tells him it’s okay, he’s safe now, it was just a nightmare. Eddie recognizes that hand, that voice, that shape in the dark. When did Harrington come back?

Eddie’s gasping, struggling to inhale a proper breath into his fear-frozen lungs. His wild eyes dart over the figure sitting beside him before landing on the hand that’s curled around his. Harrington must misread something in his expression then, because he mutters, “Sorry,” and starts to pull his hand away.

“No,” Eddie manages, instantly grabbing the other’s hand again and gripping it tight. “Keep- keep holding onto me.”

“Always,” Harrington whispers, the word an exhale under his breath, so soft Eddie thinks he may have imagined it.

Harrington rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. His touch is calming, grounding. Eddie’s breath begins to even out and his heart returns to a normal pace as his residual panic slowly dissipates.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs heavily once he’s recovered a bit. He presses his free hand to his chest. “That was the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had in my life.”

“It’s over now,” Harrington says, still soft, still tracing circles across Eddie’s skin. “Whatever it was, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it can, because Eddie can still see those horrible images behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He says so, shakily, “Think it's burned into my brain now, though. It was so real, man, I’m not sure I’ll ever get her disfigured face and mangled body out of my head.”

Harrington pauses. “Wait a second, did you dream about Chrissy?”

“Yeah, how did you-?” Eddie starts to ask, then stops as he remembers what Harrington had said yesterday about Chrissy being murdered in his trailer. The realization sets in with a cold chill. He shakes his head in horror, tightening his hold on Harrington’s hand like it's a lifeline. “No. Oh no, please don't tell me that actually happened.”

“It did. I’m sorry, it did.” Harrington clasps Eddie’s hand in both of his now. “That wasn’t just a nightmare, Ed, that was a memory. You’re starting to remember.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie mutters. If that’s what his lost memories are like, he thinks he’d very much rather them stay forgotten. “I’m starting to see why my brain blocked it all out in the first place, then. Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too?”

“No…” Harrington frowns and that kicked puppy look flashes across his face, darkening the spark of hope that had just flickered in it before. “Well, maybe, I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Great,” Eddie sighs, tired and sarcastic. He stares up at the ceiling where the gnarled ghost of Chrissy’s corpse still haunts his vision. “Can’t wait to remember more.”

“I’m sorry,” Harrington says quietly. A heavy sadness runs thick in his voice again, same way he’d spoken when he first learned of Eddie’s amnesia. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once and then lets go.

So much for always, Eddie thinks dimly. His hand feels cold now, naked and untethered without the solid pressure of Steve’s fingers curled around it.

“You should try to go back to sleep,” Harrington tells him. The mattress shifts, the springs creak, as he rises from where he’d been perched at the edge of the bed. In the empty space he leaves behind, Eddie only feels even more untethered.

A sharp rush of panic grips him at the thought of being left here alone in the dark with the twisting shadows and afterimages of his nightmare. “Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls out immediately, before Harrington can even begin to turn away from him. “Will you stay?”

“Yeah.” Harrington nods, murmurs, “I’ll stay.”

So Steve stays. He stays and he sits in the stiff chair by Eddie’s bed, and he spirals. Of course he spirals, in the silence, in the dark. He can’t seem to do anything else in Eddie’s presence lately but let his mind spin around in circles ‘til it breaks.

Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too? Eddie’s previous question is the catalyst of his spiral this time, the words that are currently echoing in the whirlpool of Steve’s consciousness, because he hadn’t thought of that before. He has already wallowed in the idea that he was something so unimportant he was easy to erase, but Steve hadn’t yet considered the possibility that he was something so horrible he needed to be erased. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? The nurse did say Eddie’s amnesia was in part due to psychological trauma, and his memories do end just before he and Steve properly met. Was being with Steve so awful Eddie’s mind lumped it in with all the other recent traumas and just had to wipe it away?

An ugly guilt twists beneath his skin, like a deep rot running black in his veins. Steve curls his hand into a fist in his lap, digs his fingernails into his palm as if the sharp bites of pain will help release what is dark and decayed inside of him. As if it will choke the voice in the hollow behind his heart that now tells him he deserved to lose Eddie’s love, or that maybe he never truly had it in the first place.

And, see, Steve knows he’s spiraling. He knows his brain has just tripped down some bullshit rabbit hole of self-deprecation and that really his despairing conclusions are not in any way rooted in reality. He knows Eddie loved him. He knows Eddie’s amnesia is not his own fault nor is it a reflection on him. He knows it’s got nothing to fucking do with him. Yet nonetheless, his mind continues to tumble downwards on a quest to prove the opposite. The rot still festers; the hollow still whispers.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie’s soft-spoken words eventually cut through the quiet and shake Steve from his lamenting thoughts.

He sits forward. “Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep,” Eddie says. “Do you, uh- sorry, could you…maybe hold my hand again?” His voice is small like he’s asking for something embarrassing, and his hesitancy kind of breaks Steve’s heart. “Just until I fall back asleep. It just- it makes me feel safer.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve scoots his chair closer to the bed and gently takes hold of Eddie’s hand again.

Eddie sighs, a heavy exhale of relief, his body beginning to relax almost immediately. He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime,” Steve whispers in response. Always, forever, anything; because I love you, want you, need you, miss you. He swallows down the emotion that rises in his chest. Another spiral threatens to drown his mind again and he fights that off too, tries not to think about everything that fucking hurts.

He focuses on the familiar feeling of Eddie’s hand in his (it’s bittersweet; he’s not thinking about it), on watching the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he slips back into a more peaceful sleep (he wants to kiss his forehead, tuck him in like a child; he’s not thinking about it).

Steve leaves first thing in the morning. The second Wayne walks in and Eddie now has someone else there to watch over him, Steve tells the older man briefly about Eddie’s nightmare and then he’s out the door before Eddie even wakes up, and he doesn’t return that day.

He can convince himself, illogically, that it’s better for Eddie if he stays away - that Steve’s spiral was right and he’d only make Eddie uncomfortable in the daylight; the less he’s around, the less the rot inside of him can poison Eddie too. But also it’s selfish. Mostly it’s selfish. Because as much as Steve craves to be near him, it hurts far more to be around him and not be seen, not be known, not be loved. The ache of missing him when they’re apart is so much easier to bear than the ache of missing him when he’s right in front of him.

Still, Steve does come back that night. He doesn’t want Eddie to be alone, and with Wayne working graveyard shifts and everyone else having parents to answer to, Steve is the only one left who’s both willing and able to sit with him through the night. He has a feeling, just a feeling, same as he’d had the night before, that Eddie might need him again. Well- maybe not him specifically, but just someone, anyone, to comfort him in the dark, and Steve can be that someone. And maybe that’s selfish too, because it feels good, eases the ache a bit, to be the one to help Eddie, to take care of him. If Steve cannot be loved then he will settle for being needed.

Good for them both, then, that Eddie does end up needing Steve that night. Eddie jolts awake from another nightmare memory - this one about being chased onto the lake by Jason Carver and watching another body float above the water and be crumpled and killed by Vecna - and Steve is there once more to hold his hand and soothe him back to sleep.

And then, again, Steve is gone the next morning, back the next night. Such is the pattern he’s fallen into, the selfish, stupid pattern: gone when he cannot feel loved, back when he can feel needed.

Tonight is the worst nightmare yet. Steve can tell it’s bad even before Eddie wakes. The heart monitor begins to beep more rapidly, Eddie whimpers and twitches in his sleep. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and tries to ease the nightmare before it worsens, though to no avail.

Eddie doesn’t wake up screaming this time, but choking and crying, rasping through hyperventilating breaths fragmented nonsense about bats and pain and death. He doesn’t seem to be completely aware or lucid right now, still stuck in his nightmare where he’s dying and he’s scared, so scared.

“Shh, Eddie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve can’t stand to see him like this. Holding his hand isn’t enough. “C’mere,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.” He doesn’t even think, just climbs onto the bed with him and very very carefully, very very gently, sits them both up and pulls Eddie onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. “You’re alright,” Steve continues to whisper softly, lips brushing against Eddie’s hair. “Just breathe, baby, it’s okay.” (The pet name just slips out; neither of them notice.)

Eddie clutches Steve’s arms, leans back against his chest and tucks his face into the curve of Steve’s neck. He’s trembling, breath still rapid and panicked, not yet free of the waking dream he’s trapped in. “I died- I’m dead- I was dead,” Eddie keeps babbling in shaky, sobbing gasps. “It hurts- and I died. I don’t- I don’t wanna die- I don’t-”

“You’re not dying, Eddie, you’re not. You’re okay,” Steve reassures him. “You’re alive.” He gently pries one of Eddie’s hands off his arm and guides it to the boy’s chest, covering his hand with his own as he presses it over Eddie’s heart to give proof to his words. “Do you feel that? You’re alive, you’re so alive.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath, lets out a tremulous exhale. “I’m alive,” he repeats, his voice wavering like he’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t quite believe.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, still holding his hand over Eddie’s slowly steadying heartbeat. “You’re alive.”

Eddie repeats it again, a little more solidly this time. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Okay, I’m okay.” His hyperventilating has finally begun to ease, his tremors gradually dissipating. He seems to wake up a bit more now, settles back into reality. He rolls his face out of the crook of Steve’s neck and tilts his head up to rest it against his shoulder instead as he looks at him. “Steve,” Eddie says, not like a question or the beginning of a sentence, but more like he’s only just now becoming aware of who’s holding him.

Steve gives a small hum of confirmation in response. He doesn’t know if Eddie is going to want him to move now, if the way they’re situated is uncomfortable for him or if Eddie is even okay with this situation at all. Steve can’t tell. He should’ve thought of that first. Holding his hand is one thing, but pulling Eddie half on top of him and holding him there is another thing entirely. And Eddie doesn’t know him anymore. Steve wouldn’t blame the guy if he freaked out at coming out of a panic attack to find himself in some strange man’s arms.

But Eddie just closes his eyes, goes quiet and still for a few long moments, and so Steve stays where he is, assumes Eddie’s trying to go back to sleep. Steve will keep holding him until then.

“Why are you always here at night?” Eddie asks suddenly, opening his eyes again. So he’s not trying to go back to sleep.

The question catches Steve off guard, and not just because he hadn’t expected Eddie to speak again. “I, uh, I don’t want you to be alone- you know, with your nightmares.”

“No, yeah, I know, and I-I’m grateful for that, but,” Eddie clarifies, “I meant, why are you always only here at night? I know you’re around during the day, dropping off one of the kids or Robin or whatever, you just don’t come in. Like- you’ll hold me through a nightmare, but you won’t actually hang out with me and just, like, eat shitty hospital food and watch shitty hospital TV with me. What’s up with that?” Eddie looks up at him. His tone is light enough, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his eyes, and a confusion that borders on hurt. “Thought we were supposed to be friends, Harrington.”

“We are,” Steve says immediately. “We are friends. I just- I didn’t want to force that on you or-or make you uncomfortable or awkward or anything. I know you don’t know me anymore.”

“Well, you haven’t given me much of a chance to get to know you again,” Eddie states plainly, and that catches Steve off guard too.

“I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“Of course I want to,” Eddie mutters. “You’re a decent guy, Stevie. Not how I thought you’d be. Maybe I want you to keep surprising me.”

The way one corner of his mouth quirks up then, popping a dimple in his cheek, makes Steve’s heart stutter, chest warm with a rush of affection. He can’t help but smile a little too. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Eddie echoes, smirk stretching into a proper grin now. He taps his fingers where they rest on Steve’s arm. “You better hang out with me tomorrow.”

“I will,” Steve agrees, because how can he say no to a smile like that? “Promise.”

Satisfied, Eddie closes his eyes and settles back to try and fall asleep again. A lingering fear still runs like an undercurrent beneath his veins though, scared of sleep and dreading the possibility of another nightmare, another memory. He shifts, pulls Steve’s arms a little tighter around him. Eddie never seems to have bad dreams once Steve is holding onto him.

(part four) taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (i have hit my limit on amount of people i can tag in one post; taglist will be continued in replies. please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. no longer accepting any more additions atm!! also, thank you guys so much for all the support on this so far omg??? this is insane for me and i'm so glad y'all are enjoying my writing <3)

#progress progress progress #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #dyfamsteddiefic #<- specific tag for this fic

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azzibuckets · 7 months ago

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Paper Rings [Part 7/10 | Paige Bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you might be falling for paige again. or not?

word count: 1.5k

masterlist w/ previous parts

PRESENT DAY

True to her word, Paige stayed away from you the entire night, boxing herself into a small group of freshmen that you’d never met. You were glad she wasn’t bothering you, but there was a small part of you that craved her attention, and missed the way she used to be all over you in settings like this.

“So,” Nika grinned. “How’s life been?”

You tipped your glass of Coke to your mouth, enjoying the sensation of the cool liquid running down your throat and awakening you with the bubbly sugar. “Alright. I’ve missed you guys. I’m sorry I haven’t really reached out.”

Nika patted your leg. “Don’t even worry about it. You know you can always come hang.” She looked around before whispering under her breath, “I know Paige is killing herself right now trying not to talk to you.” She nodded to the corner of the room, and you looked to see Paige sitting gloomily, all hangdog and staring at her hands. You both laughed, and Paige’s eyes snapped up, meeting your gaze from across the room.

You held eye contact with her for a beat longer than you should’ve, and a small smile crept onto her lips. You forced yourself to avert your eyes back down to your coke, taking another swig to strengthen your resolve. You didn’t come to Nika’s for Paige, you reminded yourself.

The gathering slowly started to die down. One by one, the coaches and other student volunteers that worked for the team left, until it was just the players and you. That was when Aaliyah called for everyone’s attention. “Girls,” she announced. “Guess what I got.” With a conniving glint in her eyes, she pulled out a white keycard from her pocket, and everyone started going feral.

You nudged Nika. “Am I missing something?”

Nika flounced up and grabbed the key card from Aaliyah. “This,” she said, shoving it in your face. “Is the key to the pool deck. Aaliyah’s been talking to a guy who keeps bragging about he stole it from a janitor and now has 24/7 access to the pool, and she finally got it.”

Everyone hollered in celebration, and started to eagerly move like a pack to the door. “Whoa whoa whoa,” Paige said. “Where are we going?”

“Come on, P, it’s time for a night swim!” Nika cheered, grabbing Paige by the shoulders and moving her towards the door too.

You’re gonna end up having seizures trying to keep up with the pace of this team, you thought to yourself. You rushed after the group of girls, praying that you wouldn’t have to save anyone tonight.

———————-

You don’t know how a loud and rowdy group of fifteen girls managed to make their way across campus and sneak into the pool deck without getting caught, but before you knew it, everyone was stripping their clothes on the deck into their bras and underwater. You joined them with no qualms. The water was your safe place, and it would be refreshing after the day that you’d had.

Wrapping your hair up into a bun, you were about to dive into the enticing blue of the water when you saw Paige hanging in the back, away from the other girls with all her clothes still on. Your stomach dropped - you had totally forgotten about Paige’s fear of swimming, and you felt like a terrible person.

Reaching to undo your bun, you made your way past the girls. Paige was now sitting down, leg jumping nervously.

“Hey.” You hesitated for a second before gently sitting down next to her. You made sure to leave enough space so that there was no way your elbows or legs or any of your body parts could touch. You weren’t sure what you’d do, if you would be able to control yourself, if your bare skin made contact with hers.

Paige slowly inhaled, leaning her head against the wall. “You can get in, Y/N. I think you might have to play lifeguard tonight.” She laughed at her own joke, but it was dry and artificial.

“I can play lifeguard from outside the pool. That way it’ll be more dramatic when I save them. You know, with the whole running and diving and all that.” Your tone was light-hearted, and you noticed Paige’s eyebrows quirk.

She wiped her hands against her sweatpants. “I should probably get in,” she muttered. “The girls are gonna wonder why I’m still sitting here.”

“You don’t have to,” you replied softly. Paige loved being confident. She hated being seen as anything but bold and fearless, so she was always embarrassed about her insecurities. It was an issue you had to work through with her, to get her to show you her vulnerable side because she had such a hard time opening up to anyone. But you had done it, and Paige had confided in you; and although it was easy for most other people, it took a lot for her to admit that she was deathly scared of drowning. She’d begged you not to tell anyone, and of course you’d sworn not to. You understood her fears, but you’d hated how she looked down on herself and refused to show any weaknesses.

Paige vehemently shook her head. “No, I want to.” Her tone was still uncertain, but you knew not to question her when she was set on doing something. “Let me, uh, change.”

You licked your lips. “Oh, yeah. Just, um, let me know when you’re done. I’ll get in with you.” You situated yourself at the edge of the pool, with your legs dangling in the water. Most of the other girls were already in, splashing around and doing handstands in the shallow end (thankfully).

Paige slowly waded into the pool through the stairs, and you hopped off the edge, plunging yourself into the water. You gave yourself a moment to submerge yourself completely underwater, loving the peaceful feeling when all the voices and noise disappeared, and all you could hear were the bubbles around you. Without bothering to come up for air, you swam to where Paige was and popped up right next to her.

Paige shrieked and toppled back, but you grabbed her hand before she could fall back. “You’re okay,” you murmured, instinctively bringing her closer to you. Droplets of water clung to her long eyelashes and made their way down the sharp edge of her jawline. Her hair was slicked back with water, dark now, and the muscles of her biceps glistened in the lighting. Paige’s hand glanced down your waist, and you were suddenly aware of your bodies pressed flush against each other.

“Ayo, Paige! Y/N! Stop making googly eyes at each other and come play chicken fight!”

Blushing, you hurriedly separated your bodies, pushed away from the blonde and swimming to the rest of the girls. They had all formed a messy circle, jostling around. “I wanna go against Paige,” Azzi challenged, poking the blonde’s shoulder.

You saw Paige give you a nervous look. Despite all the bitterness and resentment lingering between the two of you, you knew you couldn’t abandon her like this. “I’ll pair up with Paige,” you volunteered. Her shoulders relaxed and she sent you a grateful smile, and you could’ve kissed her right there.

As Azzi chose her partner, you whispered in Paige’s ear. “Don’t worry, okay? You’re not gonna drown. I’ll be here the whole time. Or, you know, on top of you,” you assured her. Paige’s eyes widened before she remembered that you were only talking about chicken fight. Get your mind out of the gutter, she chastised herself.

You got onto Paige’s shoulders, and her arms came up to grasp your legs firmly. One hand ran down your thighs and down your knee, and you gasped at the unexpected sensation, before Paige’s hand flew back up as if she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to touch you like that. Exhaling, you placed your hands on her head for stability, and you could feel her shiver.

Azzi, now atop Aaliyah’s shoulders, faced off with you. You took turns pushing each at each other, with the two girls wobbling beneath you, but Azzi was strong, and in the end she managed to catch you off guard and send you crashing into the water.

You felt two hands wrap around your hips and guide you up as you resurfaced. “You okay?” Paige breathed. She couldn’t help but lightly squeeze your hips, her thumb tracing circles across your skin.

You’d never wanted to kiss Paige more than then, when she was looking at you with so much concern and worry in your eyes. Her bottom lip was slightly jutted out, and you wanted to sink your teeth into it. All her hair was swept over one shoulder, her other shoulder exposed. It was tight with muscle and shining bare, and you wondered at what the skin there would taste like.

No, no, no. You could not be thinking of Paige like this. This was the same girl who had used you, who had ended your friendship after she’d slept with you, as if the only thing she’d cared about was taking your virginity like a notch on her bedpost.

You placed your hands over her hands that were still on your waist, gently removing them. “I think I need to go,” you mumbled. You needed to get out and create as much distance between you and Paige possible. She was breaking your inhibitions again, and you couldn’t, you wouldn’t allow yourself to fall to her traps again. Your heart throbbed as a shadow of disappointment fell across her face, but you turned around with finality to say goodbye to the other girls.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x you #uconnwbb #wcbb #wbb #friends to lovers #enemies to lovers

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estellan0vella · 6 months ago

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Face It Together ❀ SatoSugu Masterlist HFBU

You sit in the sterile, overly bright doctor's office, your fingers anxiously twisting the fabric of your shirt. The familiar clinical scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils as you wait for Dr. Kuroda to enter. You've been struggling with your epilepsy for years now, and your current medication isn't working as well as it used to. Seizures have become more frequent, more intense, and you've been feeling increasingly desperate for a solution.

When the door finally opens, Dr. Kuroda walks in with his usual confident stride. His white coat flutters slightly, and he offers you a cursory smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Good afternoon," he says, glancing briefly at your medical file. "What brings you in today?"

Taking a deep breath, you explain your situation, your voice wavering slightly as you describe the worsening seizures and the toll they're taking on your life. "I really need to try a different medication," you finish, looking at him with a mix of hope and apprehension.

Dr. Kuroda leans back in his chair, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "You know," he begins, his tone condescending, "we have to be careful with changing medications, especially for young women like you. You might want to have children someday, and many of the more effective medications can cause complications with pregnancy."

You feel a flush of anger rise to your cheeks. "But I'm not planning on having children right now. I need to be able to live my life now."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Women often change their minds about these things. It's important to keep your future options open. Besides, you need to understand that your worth as a woman isn't just about your career or personal achievements. Motherhood is a beautiful and fulfilling role."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, incredulous. "Are you saying that my life and well-being right now are less important than some hypothetical future children?"

Dr. Kuroda's expression hardens. "I'm saying that we need to consider all factors, including your potential role as a mother. Let's not make any hasty decisions. We'll have a follow-up appointment for when you're feeling less emotional"

The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. You feel numb, your mind replaying his words over and over. By the time you leave the office, your anger has given way to a deep, aching sadness. The sun is setting as you make your way home, the sky a beautiful wash of orange and pink that you can't bring yourself to appreciate.

When you step into your shared apartment, the familiar warmth and comfort of your home does little to alleviate the weight pressing down on your chest. Satoru and Suguru are in the living room, their faces lighting up when they see you. Satoru's white hair is slightly tousled, and Suguru's long, dark hair is tied back in a loose ponytail. The sight of them usually fills you with a sense of peace, but today it only reminds you of how helpless you feel.

"Hey, how did it go?" Satoru asks, his blue eyes scanning your face with concern.

You force a smile. "It was fine," you lie, dropping your bag on the floor and slipping off your shoes. You walk past them and head to the kitchen, needing a moment to compose yourself.

Suguru follows you, his brows knitted in worry. "Are you sure? You don't seem fine."

You busy yourself with making tea, your hands shaking slightly. "Really, I'm okay. I just... need a moment."

Satoru and Suguru exchange a worried glance but give you the space you need. You lean against the counter, taking deep breaths, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. The kettle whistles, and you pour the hot water over the tea leaves, the familiar ritual grounding you somewhat.

Finally, you carry your cup to the living room and sink into the couch between them. The silence stretches out, heavy and uncomfortable. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "You know you can talk to us about anything, right?"

The tenderness in his voice is your undoing. You burst into tears, burying your face in your hands. "It's just so unfair," you sob. "He wouldn't change my medication because he thinks I might want to have kids someday. He acted like my whole worth is tied to being a mother."

Suguru's eyes darken with anger. "He actually said that?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

You nod, wiping at your tears. "He said we shouldn't make any hasty decisions and that motherhood is a beautiful and fulfilling role."

Satoru's grip tightens on your shoulder, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. "That's bullshit," he says bluntly. "You're worth so much more than just the potential to have kids."

Suguru takes your hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "We're going to find you a new doctor," he says firmly. "Someone who will listen to you and take your needs seriously."

The warmth of their support begins to chase away the chill left by Dr. Kuroda's words. You sniffle, looking between them. "Thank you," you whisper. "I just feel so powerless."

Satoru brushes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "You're not powerless," he says softly. "You've got us, and we're going to fight this together."

Suguru nods. "You're strong, and you deserve to live your life on your own terms. We're here for you, no matter what."

Their words are like a balm to your wounded spirit. For the first time since the appointment, you feel a glimmer of hope. You lean into their embrace, the weight of their love and support easing the ache in your heart.

The next few days are a blur. Despite the reassurances from Satoru and Suguru, a lingering sense of dread keeps you from sleeping well. Your symptoms persist, and the frustration mounts. A few days later, you schedule another appointment with Dr. Kuroda, feeling like you need to give him one last chance before moving on. You decide to bring Shoko along. She's known you for a long time, and her medical background means she can advocate for you more effectively.

When you arrive at the office with Shoko, the atmosphere feels tense. Dr. Kuroda's condescending smile returns as he sees the two of you. "Good afternoon," he greets, though his tone is less than warm. "I see you've brought a friend."

Shoko's presence bolsters your confidence. "Yes, this is Shoko Ieiri. She's a medical professional and a friend."

Dr. Kuroda's smile tightens. "I see. So, what can I do for you today?"

You take a deep breath, summoning the strength to speak up. "I've been thinking about our last appointment, and I really need to address my current medication. It's not working, and the seizures are getting worse."

Dr. Kuroda sighs, leaning back in his chair. "We've been over this. Changing your medication could impact your ability to have children in the future. It's important to consider that."

Shoko interjects, her voice calm but firm. "Dr. Kuroda, while it's important to consider future fertility, the primary concern should be her immediate health and quality of life. There are alternative medications that can be explored."

Dr. Kuroda's eyes flicker with irritation. "With all due respect, Miss Ieiri, this is a matter for a qualified physician to handle. The patient needs to understand that her priorities might change."

Shoko's expression hardens. "And with all due respect, Dr. Kuroda, I am a qualified physician so it's Dr Ieiri, and I'm here to ensure that my friend gets the care she needs. It's clear that her current treatment is insufficient."

Dr. Kuroda's demeanour shifts to one of open hostility. "I appreciate your concern, but women often regret hasty decisions about their reproductive health. It's essential that we don't close any doors."

You feel a surge of anger at his patronizing tone, but Shoko beats you to the punch. She stands up, leaning over his desk. "What is essential is that she doesn't suffer from untreated epilepsy. Your job is to treat her medical condition, not to impose your personal beliefs about her reproductive future."

Dr. Kuroda's face reddens with anger. "I don't appreciate being spoken to in this manner."

Shoko's eyes blaze with fury. "And I don't appreciate your blatant disregard for your patient's well-being. If you refuse to adjust her treatment, we'll find someone who will."

You feel a rush of gratitude and empowerment at Shoko's fierce defence. Dr. Kuroda glares at both of you, but you no longer feel intimidated. "We'll be seeking a second opinion," you say, standing up beside Shoko. "Thank you for your time."

As you leave the office, you feel a mix of relief and lingering frustration. Shoko puts a comforting arm around your shoulders. "We'll find you a doctor who actually cares about your health," she assures you. "No one should have to put up with that kind of treatment."

Back at home, you relay the encounter to Satoru and Suguru. Their anger mirrors Shoko's, but their support is unwavering. Satoru pulls you into a tight hug. "You're not alone in this. We're going to find someone who listens."

Suguru nods in agreement. "You deserve the best care, and we'll make sure you get it."

The intensity of the moment softens as the three of you settle into the cozy living room. Satoru shifts so you can nestle more comfortably against his chest. His arms are secure around you, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a grounding presence that makes you feel safe. "You know," Satoru murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face, "you're the strongest person I know."

You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I don't feel very strong right now."

"That's because you're tired," Suguru says, sitting down beside you and Satoru on the couch. He places a gentle hand on your knee, his touch warm and reassuring. "But strength isn't about never feeling weak. It's about pushing through, even when it's hard. And you're doing that every day."

Satoru nods, his eyes full of unwavering confidence. "Exactly. We're so proud of you, and we’ll be here every step of the way."

The warmth of their words begins to dissolve the lingering tension from your appointment. Satoru's fingers trace soothing patterns on your arm, while Suguru's steady presence beside you provides a comforting anchor. You lean into Satoru's embrace, feeling the weight of the day's stress slowly lift.

"Let's do something relaxing tonight," Suguru suggests. "How about we order some takeout and watch a movie? Something light and funny."

Satoru perks up at the idea, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "I've got just the movie in mind. You guys are going to love it."

You can't help but smile at their enthusiasm. "That sounds perfect."

As the evening unfolds, the apartment fills with the comforting aroma of your favorite takeout. The three of you gather on the couch, a tangle of limbs and shared blankets. Satoru insists on picking the movie, and soon enough, the room is filled with laughter as a ridiculous comedy plays on the screen.

Every so often, Satoru and Suguru exchange knowing glances, silently checking to make sure you're okay. Their concern is palpable, but it's wrapped in layers of affection and camaraderie. They make you feel like you're not just a patient or someone who needs protection, but a beloved partner whose happiness matters deeply to them.

As the credits roll, Satoru nudges you gently. "Feeling better?"

You nod, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "Yeah, a lot better. Thanks to you two."

Suguru wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "We're a team, remember? We're here for the good days and the bad ones."

Satoru plants a playful kiss on your forehead. "Exactly. And we'll always make sure there are more good days than bad."

You close your eyes, basking in the warmth of their presence. "I don't know what I'd do without you both."

"Luckily," Satoru says with a chuckle, "you'll never have to find out."

Suguru squeezes your shoulder gently. "We're in this together, always."

The three of you stay curled up on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. The conversation flows easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. Every word, every touch, every glance reminds you that you are deeply loved and supported.

As the night wears on, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. The world outside might be uncertain and sometimes harsh, but here, in the safety of your home, you have everything you need. Satoru's playful banter, Suguru's calm strength, and the unbreakable bond you share make you feel invincible.

"Let's get some rest," Suguru suggests softly. "Tomorrow is a new day, and we'll face it together."

Satoru stands up, stretching his arms above his head. "Agreed. And who knows, maybe tomorrow we'll find the perfect doctor."

You rise from the couch, feeling lighter than you have in days. As you head to bed, sandwiched between Satoru and Suguru, you realize that no matter what challenges come your way, you have the best possible support system by your side. With them, you know you can face anything.

The next morning, you wake up feeling refreshed, ready to take on whatever the day brings. And with Satoru and Suguru by your side, you know that you'll never have to face it alone.

This is actually a genuine struggle young women face when getting placed on meds for any form of epilepsy. So you get given the ones with worse side effects that make you depressed and sick because who cares how we feel right? Inspired by this

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amsgrey · 1 year ago

Text

Deja Vu II

Part I

Okay so, I have been researching more and trying to get things at least somewhat accurate before I wrote part two. In the first part, I wrote TBI, with further research, what I was actually trying to write is an Anoxic brain Injury (still technically a TBI). The whole idea there is when the brain is starved of oxygen critical functions are impacted and there can be a whole bunch of differing symptoms after it. OBVIOUSLY, I am NOT a medical professional, so take everything with a big ol' grain of salt. I am thinking of writing some more parts to this but purely when I have time bc adult life sucks. I kept the ending open but also al actual end, unlike the first part. Hope it is somewhat enjoyable.

WARNINGS: Medical stay, seizures, talk of needles + medical procedures, hospitals, Will and Jay being their usually angsty selves, poor writing and zero editing

"Will?"

Abrams looked between the Halsteads, not sure what his place was. Everyone remembered when Pat Halstead passed, mostly because the Halstead brawl was talked about for weeks. Will Halstead was known for causing headaches for plenty of people around Med, he was the topic of gossip all through the building.

Abrams was saved by the bell - literally. His pager started beeping, excusing him from the brewing storm between the brothers.

"I'll put in for the tests," He tossed over his shoulder, disappearing into the stream of medical workers.

"Will." Jay snapped, glowering at his brother.

Will scrubbed a hand down his face, "Abrams needs to run more tests."

"More tests?" Jay pressed, "What just happened, Will?"

Will shook his head, looking at his younger brother he knew, telling Jay how bad this might be, would destroy him. Jay hated hospitals, hated medical things in general. Will couldn't look him in the eye and plant the same fear he had gnawing at him.

"I don't know, Jay," Will sighed, "I'm not a neurologist."

Jay didn't want to accept his answer, but Will didn't give him much of a chance. He turned back to your hospital room, forcing a smile as he entered.

"What was that about?" You asked, exactly where they left you.

"Just more tests," Will smiled. He stopped at the top of your bed, checking you over with doctor's eyes. You could always tell when he flipped between Big Brother and Doctor because Big Brother Will wore his emotions. Doctor Will was better at keeping his poker face like he was now.

Will's eyes flittered around the monitors before settling back on yours. His eyes softened, the slight furrow in his brow disappearing and a smile pulling on his lips again.

"You feeling alright?"

You nodded, "I'm just tired."

Will nodded, he reached out and brushed the hair off your forehead, "Get some sleep, yeah? We'll be here the whole time."

Jay reached out and squeezed your hand, before pulling up the blanket and tucking you in.

A few hours later, you were sitting up in your hospital bed while a Neurology Tech attached electrodes to your scalp. Jay had left for home, for a shower and clean clothes. He promised he would bring back your blanket and pillow and some other stuff to make you more comfortable, seeming Will said it would be okay.

While he was gone, Will sat at the end of the bed, holding your hand through the Electrode placement. After the Tech finished, you were attached to a monitor with wires upon wires, all differing colours. The tech apologized for the cap that sat over all the leads, promising it wasn’t too bad.

“it’s a new fashion trend,” you joked, smiling at the tech, “Nuero floor chic.”

The tech laughed, continuing her work. When she was done, she walked you through what she had done. Explaining the placement and the leads, and how it all worked.

"This is your personal EEG," She explained, gesturing to the boxy machine on wheels that your wires were attached to, "Try to keep it close."

She explained a few more things, then promised to return in a little while. In her absence, Dr. Abrams stopped through again. He looked over the techs work, mumbling to himself and making medical comments only Will understood.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

You had already taken a nap, so you weren't as tired as you had been.

"Sick of sitting," You said, stretching your legs and accidentally nudging Will in the process. Will playfully batted at your feet, feigning offence.

Abrams pulled at the EEG machine on wheels, testing how the wheels glided, "If you are feeling up for it, you can go for a small walk."

You lit up, "I can?"

"If you take it slow," Abrams ordered, "And Will is by your side."

Will nodded, "Are you feeling up for it?"

"Yes."

Will helped you detangle yourself from the blanket, letting you adjust to being fully upright for the first time that day. Your feet dangled over the bed as you took a moment to compose your spinning head. Will pulled a pair of socks over your bare feet, muttering something about keeping your toes warm. He held your arm as you stood up, supporting your weight as your body adjusted again.

"You alright?"

"Mmm," You responded, focused on staying upright.

"Okay," Will wrapped an arm around your waist, "One step at a time, we'll try to make it to the nurse's station and back."

It was slow going. With every step you took, it felt like the world was twisting, like walking through an earthquake. Will's arms hovered around you, only holding you up when you needed the support. He was so steady in his support, his warm presence keeping you grounded and calm.

Two steps outside of your room, Jay bounded up with your pillow and blanket tucked under his arm.

"They're upright," He commented, "Nice hair, too."

He reached out and pretended to ruffle your hair, careful to avoid touching the wires around your head. You reached out to smack his hand, but missed drastically.

You frowned at Jay, frustration barely contained, "Sshut. uphh."

The words sounded fumbled through your gritted teeth. Abrams had mentioned how you needed to take things slow and Will tried to tell you that it might be frustrating at first, but you weren’t expecting to feel such anger. It was gnawing away at you. A week ago you were dancing around with Makayla, wrangling her for a weekend while Kim and Adam worked. You had run around, danced, sung, every little thing that made Makayla happy. Not you hardly knew how to move your feet, could hardly tell what direction was up.

The anger grew and held firm in your head, making itself known with its red cloud fogging your mind.

Will grabbed your hand, "You okay?"

"Hmm."

Your vision blurred, everything swaying and twisting as you fell forward.

Will was faster than Jay was, for once. He saw the signs a mile away, already braced for when you would fall. He held you to his chest, lowering both of you to the ground and cradling your head as your body started to convulse.

Jay immediately dropped what he was carrying, falling to his knees by your side. Jay looked up at Will trying to ask silently what to do, but the eldest Halstead had gone full doctor mode.

"Need some help over here!" Will shouted, calling for the nurse's assistance.

"I need you to breathe,” Will spoke with such certainty, like he was treating any other patient.

“You’re okay,” Will kept repeating, “Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

Jay was ushered out of the way by the nurses, who crowded in with monitors and equipment to help Dr Halstead. All Jay could do was watch helplessly.

Jay held his breath as the medical team got you off the ground and transferred you back to the hospital bed. The leads they had removed that morning were reattached, placed on your ashen skin.

Dr Abrams rushed into the room and ordered Will to get out of his way, the forced politeness gone now the situation was emergent. Will stepped back, somewhat dubiously, letting Abrams run his team.

“How did you do that?” Jay asked when will stood by his side, the pair of them watching as Abrams and the team worked.

With a dose of meds, the convulsions stopped, but the team checked over the leads and kept working.

“Do what?” Will asked, turning to look at his brother. Jay had grown pale, the fear and anxiety he felt spelt out across his features. His eyes kept darting from you to the heart monitor screen like it was going to flatline.

“Stay so calm?” Jay whispered, taking a deep breath for the first time in the last few minutes. The nurses placed a mask over your face, securing it behind your head and then leaving the Halsteads and Abrams in the room.

“Jay…” Will tried to find a way to explain it, how he could just shut off his fear in that moment to help you. But he couldn’t find the words.

“She’s stable,” Abrams spoke in the silence that had formed, “From now on, we’ll keep giving them diazepam to keep them relaxed. No more strolls, even if it is supervised.”

Will nodded, taking it in.

Abrams was mostly speaking to Will, Jay was by your side, focused solely on you. He held your hand, careful to avoid the IV that was in the back of it. He watched you breathe, every-time you exhaled, he watched the mask fog up. He listened to the quiet puffs and the melodic beeping. You were okay. He kept trying to force himself to remember that. You were okay.

“Hopefully we can get this under control. In the meantime, we’ll keep monitoring, keep on with the EEG testing for the next few hours. Hopefully we’ll learn more.”

Will nodded, clapping Abrams on the back, “Thanks, Sam.”

The big brother in him wanted to press for answers, but the doctor in him knew that sometimes Doctors didn’t have the answers. If Abrams knew, he would share.

Will did a check over you and the monitors with his eyes, again. Then looked over to Jay, who looked completely deflated. It was no secret that Jay hated hospitals and medical treatment in general, especially needles. Spending time in hospitals usually gave him the creeps and he would always say to Will, “I don’t know how you do it, man.”

But Jay hadn’t complained even once. Not when he was watching the IV get put in your hand, or while you were attached to countless machines. Will knew it was because he felt hopeless. The same look that he wore at their dads bedside he wore now. Will stood and stared for a while, the memory playing in his mind in time with real life. This was different. You weren’t on life support like your father had been, things were different. That didn’t change the memories Will had of his dads last moments plaguing his mind.

“I stayed calm because i had too,” Will finally spoke. Jay looked up, watching his brother cross his arms over his chest and take a deep breath.

“I had to stay calm, for her.”

Jay shook his head, “I just froze, Will. And you-“

“Trained for years to react in medical emergency situations, spent years working the ER,” Will interrupted.

“Jay,” Will reached over the bed and gave jays shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I do this every day. I know how to tune out the emotions and focus on medical stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Will sat on one of the chairs, mirroring Jay across the bed, “Listen. I could never get used to being shot at, could never be shot at and react how you do. Because I’m not trained, I’m not good at that. You aren’t a doctor Jay, stop beating yourself up over something that was a basic human reaction.”

Jay didn't answer, letting silence fall over the room. Neither one of the brothers was up for a conversation, mostly just consumed with their own thoughts as they watched you sleep.

You had stirred a few times in the coming hours but mostly stayed sleeping. Will told Jay that it was a combination of the medication and the stress of recent events catching up with you. In his words, it was nothing to worry about.

"Hey," A soft voice called from the door, Will and Jay stood to greet Hailey as she stepped into the room.

Will and Jay had been off work since you had gotten worse, staying by your side or close by ever since. Both Voight and Goodwin understood, giving them all the time they needed.

"I brought some supplies," Hailey joked, handing food over to the brothers, "And I stopped by home and Wills, got some clothes."

"Thanks, Hailey."

"Yeah, Of course." Hailey stood by Jay, taking his hand for his comfort. "How's she doing?"

Will relayed the events of the day, the incident in the hall and all the things that had happened since. Things were moving fast, more tests and hopeful treatment plans were being talked about.

"It'll be okay," Will finished, mostly trying to convince Jay more than himself. He knew the look on Abram's face, knew that everything was far from okay.

Will told Jay to go back to work after a week, promising him that sitting by your side was a one-man job. Will had spoken to Goodwin, who agreed to let him take his occurred PTO for as long as he needed. So for the three weeks you were in the hospital he stayed by your side. You weren't used to having Will there every single minute of every single day, but you didn't mind it too much. Mostly he helped you go on walks or watched over you like a personal nurse. You knew that he and Jay were worried, but the overprotective brother act was suffocating at times. During the last week of your stay, you managed to convince him to let you have more space - that when he left the room you wouldn't make a break for it like Jay would. He agreed hesitantly, mostly hanging around from lunch until you fell asleep at night. You complained to Jay when he visited every day, but you were thankful he was there.

On the last few days of your time in the hospital, you were more independent, nothing like what you were before the accident, but more than before. You could walk small distances unsupported and some of your fine motor skills came back. The PT had told you it was common after TBI's for patients to lose control of their movements and motor skills, she promised that you would get better as time went on.

Dr Abrams had spoken to Will and Jay about Rehabilitation centres, there were a few in the city that focused on TBI rehabilitation but Will had been dragging his feet. Jay wanted to do what was best for you, even if it meant you might have to stay in a rehab facility. Will had a sour taste in his mouth over it all.

"Come in," Goodwin called from inside her office.

Will pushed open the door, greeting Sharon and Peter.

"What can I help you with, Doctor Halstead?" Sharon asked after Peter had left.

Will explained his plan, reviewing all the details he had sorted out. When he finished, Sharon was nodding in approval.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I am," Will was sure nothing could change his mind now.

"Okay then, I will talk to Dr Archer, and see how we can help," Goodwin bid Will the best, letting him continue on his way.

Will met Jay right outside your room, almost running straight into him.

"Will," Jay grabbed his brother's arm, "We need to talk about the rehab facility-"

"Yeah," Will nodded, "I know, i have a plan."

Will ushed Jay back into the room. He gestured to Jay to a chair and took a seat at the end of your bed. You were expecting him to stop by, sitting up properly on the bed expecting some kind of serious conversation from the eldest Halstead.

"What is it, doc?" You joked.

Will smiled, reaching out and holding your hand, "I have spoken to Dr Abrams and Sharon Goodwin and I have decided that we won't be trying to find a rehab facility."

Jay sighed, he had been arguing with Will about this for the better part of the week. "Will-"

"I think you should stay with me," Will told you directly, "I've taken a leave of absence, I think you should be home and recovering."

You looked to Jay, who was just as surprised. Jay hardly got caught off guard by Will, right now he had never been more surprised.

"Are you sure?" Jay broke the silence that settled over the room.

"If that is what you want?"

You could feel the joy blooming in your chest, a wide smile breaking across your face, "Yes. Please, yes."

Will mirrored your grin, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing your forehead. At times like this, you were reminded how much Will and Jay became like parents to you after your father's death. Although it was painful for all of you, you didn't have a good relationship with your father. He was never caring or affectionate, he never came to your sports games or awards, that was all Jay and Will. They stepped up and took care of you, they always have and promised they always would. You were so drained from the last few days of tests and the week in the hospital that you felt like you might burst into tears.

Will could sense your fragile state, staying sitting by your side and holding your hand. Jay got to his feet and pulled you into a hug too, then clapped Will on the back.

“So when am I allowed out?” You pressed, hoping to be home and somewhere familiar.

“Slow your roll,” Jay laughed, “There's still things that need to be organized.”

You let out a loud dramatic sigh, “I hate it here,” You whined.

Will wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him and playfully messing up your hair, “It won't be too much longer, promise.”

“Pinky promise?” You raised your finger, dramatically pouting.

Will indulged you, linking his pinky through yours and giving you a serious stare, “Pinky promise.”

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