#I have a five hour asthma turned panic attack | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scoopsgf · 4 years

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can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it!

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it...

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps.

#marvel #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #friendly neighborhood fic exchange #may parker #pepper potts #michelle jones #spideychelle #pepperony #nugget the dog #insomnia

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fandomwriterstuff · 3 years

Text

Shoot to Kill

Rated T, WinterShieldShock

The Avengers were on a mission, and Darcy was distracting herself with work. Distracting herself from what? She couldn’t tell you. It’s not like she was dating any of them. Though she wished she was, she thought to herself. Jane was off galavanting with Thor and had left Darcy in charge of the readings for the weekend.

That was how Darcy found herself completely alone on the eightieth floor of the tower, nobody in the Avengers’ residential floors, nobody in the labs, nobody in the penthouse. Just the schmucks who lived and worked on the first few floors.

She was be-bopping along to the music blasting through her noise-cancelling Stark Tech headphones for the third day in a row when things started going wrong. She didn’t hear the call for lockdown past her music. She had the blinds pulled closed and shut, so she didn’t notice the steel walls shut over the external windows. She didn’t notice anything for over an hour, actually. That was when Darcy popped up from behind a machine and saw the man in all black standing in the door and mouthing the words ‘all clear.’ He was tall, taller than Steve, and brown hair was poking out of his helmet.

“Wait!” Darcy shouted, hurrying over to the agent, pulling her headphones off.

“What are you doing up here? Civilians were evacuated an hour ago,” his gruff voice did nothing to quell Darcy’s uprising panicked feelings.

“Evacuated?” she squeaked. Steve and Bucky would be so pissed that she fucked up an evacuation.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back Miss…”

“Doctor Lewis,” Darcy narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Stay here,” he called and shut the door behind him. Darcy pondered what she should do when there was a deafening noise that echoed down the hall. Did he just shoot someone? Were there enemies in the tower?

Darcy quickly pulled out her Stark phone and dialed her father.

“Short stack, what did I tell you about calling while we’re on a mission,” Tony huffed, out of breath and Darcy let out a nervous laugh. “What’s wrong?” He was suddenly all business.

“The tower went into lockdown and I missed the evac,” she bit her lip.

“Fuck, sugar. Are you alone?” she heard him call out to his companions next. “Cap, get your ass and Barnes’ back to the Tower ASAP!”

“There was a SHIELD agent here, but he left me,” Darcy was good at staying calm under pressure, but when your one hope at getting out left you in a room alone… You start to get nervous.

“Cap and Barnes will be there in forty minutes. Stay where you are. Eightieth floor astrophysics lab. Stay,” he shouted before hanging up. Fuck.

“Doctor Lewis,” the unnamed SHIELD agent had returned with a...vest? “What is that?” Darcy had a bad feeling.

“Do you remember your training, Doctor Lewis?” The SHIELD agent walked closer and helped Darcy put the vest on. All she could think was that it was heavy. “This is kevlar. It will keep you safe.”

“What training? Why am I in kevlar?” Darcy gulped.

“We’re getting you out of here, but I’ve got to get to the rooftop. The first seventy nine floors have been cleared. Do you know what that means?” Darcy shook her head as the man pulled a piston from somewhere on his body. He seemed to have multiple. “It means if you see anybody, and I mean anybody,” he stressed the word and looked into her eyes. He put the pistol in her hands. “Shoot first, ask questions later.”

Fuck.

“You want me to take eighty flights of stairs?” She tried to be sassy, but her words came out thin, her voice wavering.

“You can do this, Doctor Lewis. Look around every corner. Safety off. Shoot first, ask questions later. Am I understood?” His voice was very serious and Darcy nodded her head, a slight lightheadedness and sense of anxiety coming in at the corners of her mind. This is not a time to panic, she told herself.

“I understand,” the man nodded and held the door to the stairwell open.

“What’s your name?”

“Agent Winchester. Sam Winchester,” he gave her a winning smile before taking the stairs up two at a time. Darcy heaved in a deep breath, her lungs expanding as she looked around the corner, gun held out with two hands in front of her before the started down the stairs.

Each floor had a doorway with a window, so it was a lot of crouching and pointing her gun around. Her thighs were beginning to ache. The kevlar was snug over her chest, and she had begun to sweat in her thick-knit black sweater after climbing down ten flights of stairs. It became a routine though: point the gun, peek around the corner and down the flight, scurry down. Point, peek, scurry. Point, peek, scurry.

It took her thirty minutes to get to the bottom and she’d forgotten that Steve and Bucky were coming for her… Or rather Captain America and the White Wolf. They’d be decked out in full gear and would be in civilian-saving mode.

She was on the last flight of stairs, the routine coming back to her as she felt the lightheadedness of relief start filling in her mind.

Point the gun.

Peek around the corner. Walk into the hallway.

At that moment, a man in black came around the corner five feet in front of her. Darcy’s arms were still outstretched, the safety was off.

Point and shoot. Point and shoot. Point and shoot. The words were repeating in her head and she made herself do it.

She pointed, and she shot. But something was wrong. There were two loud noises, not one. In a moment, Darcy was flying back. There was a sharp aching pain in her ribs and as she flew back and smacked her head on the concrete wall of the stairwell, she blacked out.

“She’s on the eightieth floor, Cap, how are we supposed to get there. Fly?” Bucky was covering his panic with sarcasm again, but Steve couldn’t blame him. Their… Darcy was in danger. She wasn’t their anything, really, but they wanted her to be.

They ducked into the tower, by the time they’d arrived SHIELD had assured them the hostiles had been taken care of. Then why hadn’t Darcy called? Steve couldn’t help but worry.

“Any eyes on Doctor Lewis? She should be in the labs, eightieth floor,” Steve asked into the comms in his ear and there was a chorus of negatives.

“Two bodies in the north stairwell. First floor,” a muffled voice called though and Steve shared a panicked look with Bucky as they headed towards the north stairwell. “One enemy, dead. Point blank gunshot to the head,” the agent was still speaking as Steve and Bucky tore through the first floor. “Fuck,” they heard him as they opened the door to the stairwell. “Second body's Doctor Lewis.”

Steve nearly choked on his breath, feeling small and panicked and like he couldn’t breathe, like he was before the serum when he would have asthma attacks. Steve walked over to the agent crouched over the sweater-clad woman.

“She’s been shot,” he looked up at Steve and Bucky. “No external injury. She’s got kevlar on. Somebody was looking out for her.”

“She was supposed to stay in the labs,” Bucky grunted and the agent paled.

“She’s lucky she didn’t, the fight came down to the lab floors pretty quick. They’re a wreck,” he shook his head and gave the rest of his assessment. “No external injury on the gunshot, but her head is bleeding. And,” he gestured to the bloody splotch on the wall. “I’d bet she flew back when she was shot and hit her head here.”

“We’ll take it from here agent,” Steve commanded and the man thankfully hurried away. He could practically see the panic in Bucky’s face being covered by the wall of stoic indifference he used as a coping mechanism.

“We should get her to medical,” he spoke and Steve nodded, unsure how to carry her if she had a head injury.

“We should call them in. With a stretcher. People with head wounds can’t just be moved,” Steve shook his head before calling for medical to come down and find them. He couldn’t help but crouch near her unconscious form and brush the sweaty hair off of her forehead.

“We should get her out of the kevlar,” Bucky noted, sounding calmer. “There’s a bullet in it, it could be putting pressure on her lungs if it compressed any.”

Steve shook his head.

“I think we should just wait for the medics,” he stood and stared at her slumped body, Bucky keeping watch for medical attention. When they finally arrived they did come with a stretcher and they gingerly removed the kevlar before laying her down.

“Told you, punk,” Bucky came to stand next to his partner. When the two men made a move to follow, one of the medics stood apart from the rest and crossed his arms.

“There’s no way you two are following her all the way up to medical when you’re looking that hungry for revenge,” the man sassed them and Steve opened his mouth to rebuke him when the smaller man stuck a hand out. “No. You can come see her when we’ve thoroughly checked her through. Alright? I’ll put you on her visitation list,” he rolled his eyes and Bucky sighed. He was smaller than them but Steve had a feeling he would put up a helluva fight.

“Alright. Thank you…?” Steve cocked his head to the side. He didn’t spend a lot of time in medical and didn’t know the doctor or nurses there.

“Doctor Leonard McCoy, at your service,” the man stuck out his hand for a shake and Steve took it, shocked by the firm grip. “Now, I’m going to be Doctor Lewis’ attending physician, so I need to leave. I assume you boys will stay out of my hair?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky rolled his eyes, but focused in on the doctor once again. “Is she going to be alright? She killed someone,” Steve was wondering the same thing, but the man just let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m a doctor, not a therapist. Find her one of those,” and with that, he turned on his heel and followed the medical procession into the elevator.

When Darcy awoke, she was in pain. Like, worse than period cramp pain. Worse than the time she fell off her bike and hit her head on the mailbox pain. Her head was throbbing, her ribs were aching, breathing was a chore and she’d never felt so in pain just to be alive.

“Fuuuuck,” she let out an exasperated breath and winced when she had to inhale again. She’d never craved breathing so much before, but it hurt to do it.

A moment later her physician walked in.

“You got anything for the aching pain in my entire body?” Darcy groaned, and closed her eyes. “I didn’t know you were into emergency medicine, Bones. I thought you just did physician shit.”

“You’re lucky it’s me and not some first year med student with a bumbling mouth and a need to prove themself,” he shot back at her and boy, did it hurt Darcy when she laughed.

“Why’s that, doc?”

“Because it was me talking your hunky boyfriends down from sitting at your bedside for the past five hours. I doubt anyone else could have prevented them from breaking in,” he shook his head and Darcy’s face heated up. She knew exactly who he was talking about. “Anybody else would have broken under the former Winter Soldier’s death glare and Captain America’s ‘I’m Disappointed in You™” voice.”

Darcy huffed out a painful laugh.

“I did tell them to come check on you about ten minutes ago because I knew you’d be waking up soon,” he muttered and Darcy smiled.

“You’re one of a kind, Bones,” Darcy added as the door to her room opened and her two super soldiers barged in.

“I thought your name was McCoy,” Bucky started and the doctor only laughed.

“Bones is a nickname his college best friend gave him. You might know him, he’s a pilot for SHIELD’s super secret space program,” Darcy added and Steve balked. “Wait, you don’t know about SHIELD’s super secret space program?” She squeaked, and Bucky shook his head, coming to sit on a chair near the bed Darcy was currently occupying.

“What’s Bones mean, then?” Bucky was trying to be nicer to the doctor who was clearly a friend of Darcy’s.

“Ah, you tell ‘em, doc,” Darcy laughed and Steve’s eyes darted to her ribs when she winced, biting her lip hard enough to make the skin red and angry. The doctor let out another one of those sighs, drawing both of the boy’s attention.

“When the wife left me, she took everything. I got nothin left but my bones,” he shook his head dramatically and Darcy smiled.

“You got me and Jim though!” Darcy exclaimed, and at Steve’s questioning look she elaborated. “Jim Kirk, he’s a prodigy. He’s the pilot I mentioned. He can pilot anything, a jet, a plane, a helicopter, a spaceship,” she shrugged slightly. “Him and Bones over here are men of many talents.”

It was clear to Steve that Darcy was trying to keep her mind off of what had happened, but in her relaxed moments she had a look in her eyes. She looked so tired and scared.

“What’s the verdict, doc?”

“Bruised ribs, medium concussion. You’ll be here overnight and you can leave tomorrow if you can have someone with you 24/7. I know you live alone so it might mean having Doctor Foster stay over or…” he trailed off and nodded towards the two men sitting attentively at her bedside. “Talking your feelings out with the Wonder Twins,” Darcy squawked in indignation as the man finished checking her vitals and left her alone with the super soldiers.

“So,” Bucky started and Darcy raised an eyebrow at him. She was trying to get a read on him, but a shit-eating grin was growing on his face. “You got some feelings you wanna tell us about, doll?”

“You know as good as a time as this seems to suddenly talk about my feelings,” Darcy pursed her lips. “It sounds like an even better time to ask why you two dopes tried to follow me into medical when you knew I wouldn’t be up for several hours.”

Both men blushed and Darcy was thriving. The three of them had been walking the tightrope of flirting and genuine care for each other for quite some time now. She felt as if she was on uneven ground though. The two of them had a history, and she was new to this whole feelings thing.

“Well we thought you might not want to be alone when you woke up,” Steve mumbled and Darcy couldn’t help the soft smile that grew on her face.

“You’re too sweet,” she shook her head at the ridiculousness of the situation, but stopped abruptly and raised her arms to hold her head. “Whoa, note to self. Don’t move your head. Very dizzy,” but the act of moving her arms hurt her ribs so she was just in a world of pain. “Do you think he would give me more pain meds? I feel like it’s worn off,” she groaned.

“I’ll go find Doctor McCoy,” Bucky reached out and squeezed her now resting hand before exiting and looking for the sarcastic man. He liked that doctor, and he wanted to be on good terms with Darcy’s friends.

“You two really are the sweetest,” Darcy offered Steve another smile and he returned it, taking her hand in one of his. They’d never held hands before and Darcy found her face heating up. Steve had nice hands, too. She’d never noticed before.

“We were so worried when Tony called us back to the tower, and we couldn’t get a ride up to your floor,” he looked down, examining his shoes. “When the agent told us you were down, I didn’t know what to think, he was just crouched over you, checking your pulse and making sure you hadn’t been shot through,” he shook his head and looked up at Darcy as Bucky walked in. “I know it can be dangerous, living and working in the tower, being related to Tony, being close to the two of us,” he glanced over at Bucky as the other man sat down. “But I was panicking when I saw you on the ground, and I wished that maybe things were different, that you could be safer…” he trailed off and Bucky patted him on the shoulder once, squeezing it for comfort.

“But things are dangerous,” the other man started, gulping and looking up at Darcy. “And we can’t promise you won’t be in danger if you want to pursue something more with us. But we can promise to be careful and do our best to make you feel safe with us.”

Darcy’s lower lip stuck out and she tried to get her misty eyes to dry up at his sweet words.

“You two are too much you know,” she sniffled and blinked her eyes. “You’re so nice and you’re like very emotionally intelligent considering all the bullshit you’ve been through. I expected at least a little bit of posturing and misunderstanding,” she laughed a little and the two handsome men smiled back at her.

“I can’t say I’m not super hot headed,” Steve started.

“And sometimes I get jealous,” Bucky added with a little shrug.

“But we’d try our best for you,” Steve finished with a very pretty smile and Darcy returned it.

“Alright well, I don’t want to give this new thing a super test run yet so I’m going to have Jane come take care of me until I can be on my own. But,” she added when they looked like they were going to argue. “I expect you to come over for movies and dinner tomorrow night. I can’t cook because moving my arms hurts like a bitch, but I know a lot of good take out restaurants that would be perfect for a stay at home movie date,” at the word ‘date’ they perked up.

Steve smiled and Bucky let out a sigh of relief. Their Darcy was okay, and they had finally started the conversation about their feelings. Things were looking up.

#wintershieldshock #shieldshock #wintershock #darcy x steve x bucky #darcy x steve #darcy x bucky #steve x bucky #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

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anjuschiffer · 4 years

Note

82, IzuOcha; Ochako having a panic attack and Izuku trying to calm her down

Ohoho! A BNHA prompt owo

Haven’t done a BNHA fic in a while ^^

Hope you like this!

-----

Prompt 82: “Just breathe, okay?”

-----

Even At Home, I’m Not Safe

“I’m home.” Izuku tiredly announced, kicking off his shoes as he let his duffel bag hit the floor with a thud.

It was another rough day at the hero agency, Izuku finally allowing himself to relax as he stepped further into his home.

Being a hero was nice and all, a job Izuku held with pride and honor, but nothing beats being home.

At home where he can himself...where she can be herself.

Ever since the two found themselves under the same agency, Izuku offered Ochako a place to stay at his apartment. It had an extra bedroom and it was quite close to their agency, Ochako hooked into the offer once he told her about the low rent. She quickly moved in and as quickly as she had moved in, Izuku had quickly adored her company.

The two would often train together, eat together and even clean, although if you asked the two of them, they enjoyed laying on the living room floor together the most.

Especially during the summer.

They would move everything to the side and just lay there on the ground, their eyes closed as they were enveloped in the sun’s warmth, the breeze occasionally tickling their faces.

But today, as soon as Izuku stepped into the living room, something felt off and that was without noting the dark room that was usually brightly lit.

“Ochako, are you alright?” Izuku asked, spotting Ochako sitting in front of the television, her eyes glued to the screen.

Izuku turned his attention to the screen, feeling his heart drop when he saw what was there.

It was the incident from earlier today, the one where the two were at just hours ago. The one where-

“Ochako.” Izuku called out again, approaching the woman, noticing how wide her eyes were, new tear trails running over the old ones. Her breathing was still stable, but Izuku could clearly hear how she was starting to lose control of it.

“Ochako.” He coaxed, turning his attention back to the screen, watching as the villain incident replayed on the screen, watching as buildings started to collapse. Izuku was able to vividly remember how the place smelled of. Of dust and burning wood, a smell Izuku would never get over. “Ochako, please. Ta-”

“If only I got there quicker.” Ochako managed to whisper, Izuku grabbing her hands.

They were trembling.

“Ochako, you know-”

“It’s all my fault Izuku.” Ochako said a bit louder this time, more tears falling down her face.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Izuku reminded her, glancing at the tv once more, the news coverage talking about the tolls of the villain incident, talking about Izuku and a few other heroes with praise, never once mentioning the rescue squad. “We both know that-”

“But in the end, it was my hesitation that caused many to-”

“You didn’t hesitate.” Izuku argued.

“Yes I did Izuku! If I never hesitated to leave a few behind, they wouldn’t have died!”

“Ocha-”

“I let them die Izuku! And it’s all my fault!” Ochako yelled, looking down at her hands, recalling the moment she retracted her hand. She was there, and yet she froze when she realized she couldn’t save them all.

Yes, there were only 23 of them, but her quirk couldn’t save them all. A few had to stay back, a thought that Ochako hated. After all...what if she never saw them again?

“Ochako, look at me.” Izuku pleaded, lifting her chin so that she could face him, his other hand now holding her own trembling one.

“I let them die because of my stupid hesitation, Izuku! I let them slip from my grasp! I let them die! I-I-I!” Ochako attempted to speak, but nothing came out, only quivering breaths and more tears.

The lump in her throat burned, her chest hurting.

“Ochako, just breathe, okay?” Izuku coaxed. “I’ll help you, okay.” Izuku said. “Let’s exhale.” When Ochako didn’t do anything, he asked again. “Let’s exhale.” And when he saw that she was about to, he got up and ran to the kitchen. “Exhale and hold your breath.”

Grabbing a cup, “Now let’s inhale for 4 seconds. 1.” He then went to grab ice from the fridge. “2.” He made his way back to Ochako, seeing her still holding her breath. “3...4, now let’s hold it for seven.”

Izuku counted the seconds out loud, watching as Ochako did her best to hold her breath, Izuku placing the cubes of ice between them on the floor. “Now we’re going to exhale for 8.”

Izuku led her through it, doing the breathing exercise twice more, a smile forming on his face when Ochako was finally able to see him again. “How are you feeling?” he asked, handing her the ice cubes. He watched as she chewed on the ice.

“A bit...better.” Ochako confessed. “Terrible, but not as bad as earlier.”

“But it’s progress.” Izuku said, grabbing a blanket from the couch and wrapping her with it. How did he forget the safety blanket?

“I just...how did I let them down so badly?” Ochako cried out. “How can I call myself a hero when-”

“But you were one.” Izuku said with a smile, grabbing hold of her hand. “Your squad was the only group to have perfectly assessed the situation, you being the one to have found that particular group. If it weren’t for you, they would’ve been reduced to statistics.” Izuku said, putting down a finger.

That would’ve added 20 counts to the death toll of that incident. But thanks to Ochako, the death toll of that incident was only 5.

“Out of the 23, you rescued 20 of them.” He put down another finger. “Out of those 20, five were kids. You rescued five futures and inspired them at that.” Izuku said, putting another finger down. He then recalled his conversations with said children.

Two of them wanted to become rescue heroes, wanting to one day work under Uravity when they were older. “Thanks to you, no one was injured, not even those who you left behind.” Izuku placed down another finger. Ochako had managed to make a safe zone for those three left behind, making their surroundings stable enough to endure another villain attack while they waited for help.

“Yes, two of those three couldn’t make it, but it wasn’t your fault.” Izuku said softly, wrapping his arms around Ochako. Izuku remembered the faces of the elderly couple who passed away. He died with a smile on his face. The two civilians who were with him retold his last words to Izuku.

‘Tell Uravity that it wasn’t her fault. We were already old and suffering from asthma. Or at least one of us is. Even if she did rescue me, I would’ve only had a few more hours to live before reaching my fate. So tell her to not beat herself over us. We’re thankful that she saved our family, especially our grandson. He’s only 3 after all.’

“Your hands were meant to save and you did. You saved 20 lives today, your squad saving 50 in total.” Izuku reminded her. “You were a hero, through and through.”

Izuku felt her hug him back, hearing sobs emerge from her.

“Thank you for all the hard work. Thank you for saving them.”

#bnha #izuocha #bnha fic #anju writes

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ilkkawhat · 4 years

Text

just for the sake of sharing. and since i didn’t get the fic done like i wanted to yesterday. here’s a preview of that haunted mansion fic. feel free to ignore.

They’ve been driving for hours on an impromptu road trip to California, since the lab was being shut down for the week due to unfortunate circumstances that they decided to make the best of, collectively pooling the reaped rewards of their overtime paychecks as well as their rainy day funds to sponsor the vacation. They would hit all the big spots in Los Angeles at Greg’s request, then visit the Sequoia National Forest at Nick’s, all while visiting the big tourist attractions per Hodges’ wish—and then finally, in a half-joke but not really a joke, a trip to Disneyland prompted by Henry.

It was an ambitious quest and one that lost its appeal as highway hypnosis drained their exuberant energies, adding in the fact that they had left rather late to begin with, making little progress in the vastness of the state. Their lighthearted banter turned sour, teasing became tense, and Nick in particular had white knuckles decorating the steering wheel as he pushed a couple digits over the speed limit.

They find a motel, the flickering neon of a broken sign outshadowed by the green tinted fluorescence that engulfs Nick and Hodges as they walk through a thin, floating slab of cloud surrounding the entrance to check in. Greg may as well be alone in the car, as Henry is knocked out in the back, overcome with drowsiness from his motion sickness medicine. As he watches Nick enter the office, he swears he gets some sort of double vision, seeing another Nick standing by the pillar on the edge of the canopy, staring at the car.

The hairs on the back of his head stand up, goosebumps tickling his skin and he keeps wary but also weary-eyed contact with the duplicate, and when Hodges and Nick emerge from the office and he finally blinks, the doppel-Nick vanishes and so he takes it for what it was; a figment of his overtired brain playing to the part of him that is truly unsettled in this desolate nightscape void of the flashing sirens and bustling crowds that he’s used to—this is pure isolation.

That, or the apparition was an omen, warning him of danger, possibly to Nick.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Guy at the front desk said there’s some nasty fog rolling into the valley,” Nick’s voice startles Greg out of his thoughts as he lingers on the empty space, and as Nick pats his back softly he asks a silent question with his eyes, and Greg gives a quick nod of his head.

“Plenty of rooms vacant but none with more than one bed,” Hodges announces, patting Henry awake gently despite his loud voice doing the deed, earning a glare from the awakening man, rubbing his eyes.

So they get two rooms and split up. Henry and Hodges in one room, Nick and Greg in the other—the obvious choices, of course, but also logical as Greg snores, and Nick’s an insomniac anyway.

Yet Greg doesn’t seem to fall asleep so easily, or at all, despite his exhaustion. Plagued with restless dreams of a flickering Nick-less void, there’s an unease churning in his stomach and a thumping concert of paranoia in his heart.

“G? You still awake?” Nick asks from the armchair in the corner of the room, leafing through a magazine in the intrusive fluorescent light bleeding through the thin curtains. His voice perks Greg’s ears, but yet doesn’t soothe the flight response bubbling under his skin.

“Yeah,” Greg grunts, still resisting his urge to toss and turn to the other side, not wanting to be uncomfortably watched by the grumpy zombie in the corner. “How’d you know?”

“Y’ain’t snoring.”

“And how’d you know that?”

“Sara told me. Remember when we had...that case...in Pioche?”

Of course Greg remembers, and finds it odd that Nick didn’t refer to it as the McBride case for the first time in almost five years.

“You and her shared a room,” he pauses, Greg can envision how his tongue is washing over suddenly dry lips, even with his back turned. “Me and Rick in the other. She told me in the mornin’ how badly you snored.”

“So you can remember that...but you can’t remember...” Greg sighs in exhaustion, his eyes finally dropping but then snapping open at the sound of the magazine getting tossed harshly to the ground with a groan trailing after it. Hears the creaking of leather, and knowing Nick, he’s gotten up from the chair to start to pace like a lion trapped in a cage.

“I told ya I’m sorry—”

“No.” Greg’s turn, to bite down on his lower lip and decide if he really wants to have this conversation right now, but they’re both cranky and tired anyway. “No, from what I recall you just promised not to do it again. You never actually apologized—“

“Well, I’m sorry. Happy?”

“You don’t mean it.”

“Greg—of course I mean it!”

Greg doesn’t realize how tightly his jaw is clenched until it seals tighter when he feels the space next to him sink down. He almost rolls backwards into Nick, whose touch indicates a softness not found in Greg’s vision of animalistic anger and places a tentative hand on Greg’s shoulder which quickly retreats when he feels how stiff Greg is.

“I know that...I’m not invincible,” Nick’s fingers curl into the palm of his hand.

“Coulda fooled me,” Greg scoffs.

“And I didn’t mean to accuse you of being...some sort of bad guy, I-I mean, you had a point, that kid was probably gonna kill me—”

“He never would have stood a chance anyway,” Greg admits dully. “But that’s really not what upset me. You were just so...angry.”

“I was almost blown up. Twice!” Nick laughs, dropping the softness in his words and exchanging it for daggers. “What, was I supposed to be prancing around giddy with glee that I was alive? That wore off fast after I was pulled outta hell the first goddamn time, Greg.”

“Cath told me what you said.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘I’m not afraid to die.’”

“Yeah. Well...I’m not.”

Greg spins around, propping himself up on his elbows.

“But maybe I am, Nick!” Greg hisses. “And maybe...I’m afraid of...”

“What?” Nick wipes his nose to mask the escaping sniffle. “What are you so afraid of?”

Losing you.

Greg’s elbows give out, he falls back onto the bed, a hand rubbing throbbing temples while the other shoves down the heart bulging out of his chest. There’s an odd sloshing in his lungs, airways in his nose blocked. If he’s not careful he’ll work himself up into an asthma attack. He turns his head away from Nick to ensure the inhaler is right where he left it on the end table.

“Nothing. Just forget it.”

Nick gets up from the bed, and it’s the sound of clicking—a certain clicking, the one that only comes from the opening of a door, that snaps his head back to the main attraction, the man standing in the opened doorway, ready to escape the suffocating imprisonment of spending the night with Greg Sanders.

“Wait, where are you going—?” Greg sits up, his heart now soaring, telling him to give Nick a reason to say because he knows that really, he’s about to....

“I’m taking a drive,” Nick answers gruffly, popping the collar to his jacket and pulling on his sleeves. “Gonna fill up the car, I’ll be back by morning.”

“Let me come with you—”

“Get some sleep. You need it.”

“Nick—” Greg gestures to the empty space that Nick just occupied, waving a hand for him to come back.

He knows he won’t.

He picks up the car keys instead.

“Save it.”

He walks out the door without another word, and Greg leaps out of bed, boxers be damned he flings the door to call out to his friend.

“Nick!”

Nick enters the car, slamming the door without consideration to the sleeping residents and prying eyes of the motel.

Or even to Greg.

“NICK!”

Squealing tires, a loud gasp—multiple gasps, from his passengers who start shouting in the white noise of panic as Nick veers off course of an almost collision with a shadowy figure ahead—a figure that was short enough to pass for a child, long hair and a faceless face but the curvature of the body under a slender dress registered the humanoid figure as potentially female—but he doesn’t dwell on that for long as he regains control of the car, swerving in and out of the parallel yellow lines—the car almost tips, he doesn’t release his breath until all four wheels touch the ground and he finally tunes into his passenger’s dialogue.

“What was that?”

“Was that a girl?”

“Jesus, man! Keep your eyes on the road!”

He allows himself a few shortened gasps before gulping down the remainder of his adrenaline, forcing calm on himself as fatigue comes crawling from under his eyelids, daring to pull the curtains.

“Sorry,” Nick gulps. He looks at the clock on the radio. Five A.M. He feels as if he’s been on the road all night, but he remembers getting some semblance of sleep in the dingy motel room with Greg after filling up the gas tank, going back and apologizing through pillow talk.

Phantom whispers fill his ears, unintelligible voices but it sounds like Greg. He tries to focus but his attention is taken by the urgency of looking for his almost-fatal victim in the rear view mirror and the returning reaction of panic as his mind unscrambles.

Whatever shadow was there that he almost hit is gone. All that’s left is a thick layer of fog that swirls around the car, trailing behind yet also retreating ahead of them. Thick walls sandwich the car and Nick cracks his window to suck in the cold, misty air as a reminder that he’s not necessarily entrapped so much as they are just...well, okay maybe a little trapped but he doesn’t want to admit it, parting his lips and gritting his teeth as he reels himself in before he unravels further.

“Should we go back?” Henry mercifully asks and breaks Nick’s concentration on his inner self. He’s spun around, looking out the rear window but seeing nothing but the same fog, though it’s much less suffocating to him than it is to Nick.

“Y-yeah,” Nick breathes, then swallows down the last nagging thought of panic. It’s time to be the leader of the assclowns. “But I don’t know if a U-turn is a good idea with this fog.”

“Maybe we should stop. Stretch our legs, we can just take a quick walk down the road, we haven’t gone too far yet,” Greg offers. Nick’s ears perk up, he’d very much like that, and immediately schemes a scenario of holding hands so they don’t lose each other.

“I don’t know, with Lightning McQueen here, we may already be into the next town,” Hodges scoffs, an intrusive finger sliding past Nick’s shoulder to point at the speedometer.

Fifteen over the speed limit. Whatever the speed limit actually is—the sign is masked and as faceless as the road wanderer.

“I don’t think walkin’ in the fog will do us any favors either,” Nick reluctantly growls as he takes his foot off the pedal and bats Hodges’ finger out of the way. The initial appeal of walking around loses to the settling danger of either losing each other, or losing the car, or losing their minds walking around the ceaseless skyfallen ground. He thinks of how Sara described wandering in the desert for hours and hours and hours, while the intense desert heat is the polar opposite of the frigid foggy roads, he still empathizes with the prospect of having no direction, no hope.

Only difference is, he wouldn’t be so alone.

He puts his foot on the brake and pulls off to the side, channeling his frustrated energy into putting the car in park. He swivels in his seat for a full group discussion.

“Well, what’s it going to be then?” Greg sighs, his tone dripping in annoyance.

A beat.

“I’ll turn around. If we find the girl, we’ll pick her up and take her home,” Nick concludes, nodding his head to amp himself up for this more logical plan, rather than the more emotionally driven choice of walking around, stretching the cramping legs that kick at the floor of the vehicle. “‘S why it’s a good idea to drive, cover more ground that way.”

“Think she’ll fit back here between us? And she was walking so slow—” She was walking? Nick thinks to himself, astonished that he really wasn’t paying any attention. “—what if she’s hurt, or diseased or something?”

“C’mon, Hodges, wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a girl between us,” Henry teases.

Hodges begins to stammer, the corners of Nick’s lips twitch up as he does a three-point, as efficiently and cautiously as he can in case there are other blind drivers in the fog, but after nearly ten minutes of driving, there’s no girl in sight.

“There was a turn about a mile back, maybe she went down that road?” Henry suggests.

They follow the road, and reach a dead end with nothing but the road sign sprouting in the sea of fog.

“Guess not.”

They turn around, but the main road is either passed or not reached. They find themselves in a fork that doesn’t seem familiar to Nick.

“Do any of y’all remember seein’ this? Did I run a sign?”

The backseat passengers shake their head, Greg is looking to the left, past Nick.

“Turn left,” he nudges.

“You sure?”

“Positive,” Greg nods his head.

They turn down the road and continue on, Nick’s eyes flicker to the clock. Seven A.M, and no signs of the fog letting up—in fact, it’s somehow more packed, though specks of what might be...snow? Scatter the air—It makes no sense, Nick thinks, this part of Cali doesn’t get snow...does it?

Snow was such a rare occurrence for a young boy growing up in Texas that it was a little more disturbing than it was luxurious. He of course, would often see depictions of children such as himself building snowmen, making snow angels, having snowball fights and so at first, the idea of snow excited him—but it was never enough to stick, never enough to craft meltable creations, never enough to get a cold. He appreciated how lighter it was compared to the heaviness of rainfall, but didn’t quite appreciate how it would disappear just as soon as it fell.

Fleeting, like life itself.

The wind slices across his cheek, waking him from a ride down memory lane to find a more distorted one, winding downward—he doesn’t typically get nauseous when he’s driving, but something sinks and settles to the pit of his stomach, clogging the drain with a tight not that threatens to burst like a geyser out of his body.

The road straightens out, and they reach another fork that’s missing a prong.

Nick keeps driving forward.

“You sure this is the way?” Hodges asks.

“Quit bein’ a backseat driver, I know where I’m goin’!” Nick hushes him, his accent thickening in his annoyance. “The map had a long winding road, just like this one, dinn’t it?”

“Here, I can pull it up on my phone—Oh...maybe not. No cell service,” Greg mutters. “Maybe we should find the gas station, ask for directions?”

Nick puffs his chest, lifts his chin.

“Don’t needta. Fog’ll clear up soon.”

“Well, it hasn’t yet—”

“Calm down, G—”

“I am calm!”

“I think we’re lost,” Henry groans.

“We ain’t lost,” Nick proclaims. “When have I ever steered us wrong?”

“When you rolled the car and sprained Henry’s ankle,” Hodges responds immediately.

“That—That wasn’t my fault, just the rolling—which you laughed at, and hey, if I didn’t, we coulda crashed—”

“When you told me that riding that mechanical bull was as easy as those twenty-five cent kiddie rides at the grocery store,” Henry offers.

“That one just had a screw loose is all—”

“When you, Warrick and Sara convinced me to stage a coup against Catherine,” Greg jabs.

“She betrayed our trust, Greggo!”

“No, she betrayed your trust. You guys kinda forced me into it.”

“That’s not—It wasn’t just—This was years ago and what the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Me? What’s gotten into you? You’ve been all over the place since we got to the motel—”

“Well, sorry I can’t close my eyes for more than a minute without gettin’ nightmares, and therefore, no goddamn sleep!”

“Mm. Suddenly saying ‘sorry’ a lot now, I see.”

“You know, Nick, if you need a break, maybe I can drive—” Hodges interrupts.

“No.” Nick and Greg say flatly, simultaneously.

A terse, awkward silence flitters in through the open window, which Nick rolls down even further. He allows himself a few breaths after a few endless minutes before he speaks again.

“Just...need some food in me or somethin’, tank’s gettin’ empty.”

“So’s the gas tank,” Greg observes.

“I knew that,” Nick mutters, though really, he didn’t know that. He scrunched his face, hadn’t he left to fill up last night?

They reach another fork with no sign in sight. Nick squints and leans, before getting out of the car to do a quick sweep, as if he’d suddenly find the direction along the listless roads, but the only signs are the red ones telling him to stop.

He gets back in the car, flexes his fingers around the wheel, and takes a deep breath.

“I think we’re lost,” Nick admits.

“Oh, really?” Greg sighs loudly in exasperation, tossing a hand into the air to wave at the directionless driver.

“Relax, man, I’m sure we’ll find our way.”

“Then why even bring it up?” Henry whines from the backseat.

“Just to make you whine, buttercup,” Nick teases with a playful smile into the mirror.

#mk.op #mk writes stuff #fic: the day the world went away #i'm giffing some assclowns stuff to get in the mood #it's not working #and like. i know i don't HAVE to have a fic posted every week but #i really honestly don't know when i'm gonna have another fic ready.#i don't know.#i'm sorry #also no italics cause i'm too lazy to fix that #but there's a lot of them

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writemywaytoyourheart · 5 years

Text

Onsra- Chapter 16: The Hunted

Pairing: vampire!jungkook x female reader

Genre: horror, angst, drama, romance

Word count: 2k

Warnings for this chapter: nothing~

Tag list: @jjungkook99 @ditttiii

Onsra: ML, Previous

Enjoy :)

All you can focus on is not letting your legs give out underneath you as you charge for the trees; blocking out the sound of someone shouting for you to come back. You're not going back anywhere without Ga-In and Yuri.

When you're a little way into the forest you look around blindly, the voices having faded away by now. "Ga-In?? Yuri??" You scream into the night, praying that someone will answer you. Then, you hear a voice call out your name, but your heart sinks in your chest when you turn and see who it is clambering through the branches.

"Y/n, what the hell are you doing?" Jungkook hisses at you through clenched teeth when he sees you crouched on the forest floor, trying to catch your breath.

"I heard Ga-In and Yuri! I think someone took them." You cry breathlessly when you feel Jungkook come up beside you. Jungkook sighs heavily and grabs your arm, roughly yanking you to a standing position. Your mind is in a flurry, trying to decide which way to run to find them. You push out of Jungkook's grasp and take off further into the woods, ignoring Jungkook's string of curses as he follows you.

"Ga-In! Yuri!" You scream again, then you hear a twig snap somewhere to your right. A dead silence follows, and suddenly you feel like something isn't right...

You look around, then go to whisper shout their names one more time, when a hand clamps down over your mouth.

"Ga-In! Yu-mmmf!"

You reach up to claw at whoever has their hands on you, but you're not nearly strong enough to resist them when they wrap their arms around your torso. The cold hand is still pressed tightly to your mouth as you struggle to break free from their grasp. Your captor easily wrenches you into the air and carries you into the undergrowth, where a huge patch of leaves and bramble are your cushion when they throw you onto the ground. You try to scramble away but you get yanked back and your mouth is covered once again. Then, you feel warm breath on your neck when they whisper harshly into your ear.

"Stop moving unless you want to end up dead."

Jungkook?

You freeze at his words, your breath going in and out of your nose slowly. You're trying desperately to calm yourself down.

"Nobody took them."

What?

You make a confused sound against his palm and feel his breath against your ear once more, "I said nobody took your friends. It was a trick, and one you fell for so easily. Stupid." He sounds out of breath as he whispers so lowly you can barely hear him. "Don't make another sound."

You steady your breathing as much as you can and then give him a small nod. Jungkook slowly removes his hand from your mouth and you take another deep breath as quietly as you can. You turn to see Jungkook's face extremely close to yours, so you scoot a little to the side, giving him a questioning look as he just glares at you, slowly shaking his head side to side. That's when you hear another twig snap somewhere off to your right.

Oh.

It's nighttime, isn't it?

Dread flows through you and your heart stops in your chest. It was a trick? What kind of trick? Why? Then you remember Hoseok's words, 'It's a diversion! Nobody leave! Stay close to the house!'...You mentally facepalm yourself for behaving so rashly.

So that means.

Jungkook leans over and whispers into your ear so quietly you almost miss what he says, but you catch it, "You're being hunted." Goosebumps break out on your skin as he moves back, putting a finger up to his lips.

The two of you sit there in dead silence, hardly daring to breath. A few times you hear branches snap and footsteps running past your hiding spot, but no one ever finds you. After a good half hour of sitting quietly, Jungkook looks over and sees you curled in a ball, your hands over your ears and your eyes pinched shut.

A hand touching your shoulder makes you jerk your head up in fear, but it’s only Jungkook. He just stares at you blankly while you look around the quiet forest, the only light is coming from the moon as it seeps through the branches of the trees. You look over at Jungkook again and see him staring out of the bushes at the open forest, his eyes unblinking as the moon illuminates his pale skin. You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there, but eventually your feet start to tingle. You’ve been sitting curled up with your feet under you for so long that they went numb a little while ago, apparently they’re waking up again.

The vampire next to you looks almost bored as he stares out into the dark forest. Then it’s like he snaps out of some trance when he suddenly looks at you. You wonder if he forgot you were there for a minute.

“Ok, let’s get out of here.” Jungkook stands up and you stumble over your tingling feet trying to follow suit.

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

Jungkook whirls on you angrily at your quiet inquiry.

“Does it matter? You don’t seem to give a damn about safe. You’re constantly getting into stupid situations because you don’t think! So tell me y/n, do you really fucking care if it’s safe? Why don’t you go run off and try to be the hero again and let me know how that works out for you.” You bite your tongue before you lash out at him, you know he’s being an ass just to be one. You’d rather not start crying right now though, so you swallow the lump in your throat and stare at the trunk of a tree, trying to memorize the pattern of bark while you blink back the angry tears.

Jungkook just laughs in disbelief and starts to walk. Following him reluctantly, you wipe at your eyes to make sure there’s no trace of how he made you feel. It’s only a matter of time before you hear his footsteps cease. You bring your head up to see why he stopped but run into his hard back before you can catch yourself. Stumbling back a bit, you catch yourself, then your whole body tenses at the sound of something rustling behind you.

“Run, go go go.” Jungkook shoves you in front of him and you blindly take off. You’re not sure where you’re going, but as long as it’s away from whatever is lurking in the bushes behind you, it’s good with you. You stumble over the branches and logs; your arms stretched out in front of you in case a tree decides to pop out of nowhere and clock you. You can hear Jungkook jogging behind you, when a sudden burst of anxiety makes your legs pump faster. Jungkook’s heavy breathing makes your heart leap to your throat when you realize he’s speeding up too. Now you’re in full on sprint mode as you pray that you don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.

Your lungs are starting to constrict as you feel an asthma attack coming on, you push through it. Your legs are aching now, but the sound of something behind Jungkook crashing through the trees gives you a newfound will to keep running as fast as you can. The panic in your body right now could make you freeze up and collapse on the ground, and you’re contemplating on just curling into a ball and giving up at this point. Nature makes that decision for you though, because in the next second, your foot catches on a log and you crash to the ground in a terrified heap. A horrible stabbing pain flares from your ankle up through your leg and it’s all you can do to not scream. You reach down to touch your ankle and pull your hand away when you feel something wet and warm.

What am I supposed to do now? Oh, just let them take me. You think miserably before Jungkook almost trips over you as he comes barreling through the forest, but he stops himself just in time. The ebony haired vampire looks at you, then behind him, then back at you before it seems like he comes to a decision.

Jungkook sighs in irritation at the lump of pathetic pain you are, then he easily picks you up and quite literally tosses you a couple feet into another bunch of bushes before you can even comprehend anything. You land on the ground hard and hiss in pain, then quickly clamp your hand over your mouth when you see something approach Jungkook in the darkness. A couple somethings, actually.

“Well, lookie what we found here.”

A mocking voice comes from one of the two figures as they stand only about five feet from where you lay in cover. You hear Jungkook chuckle darkly and see him cross his arms over his chest.

“What do you want?”

“Aww, is the little boy lost? Wander too far from mommy?” A second voice pipes up and the two silhouettes start moving around as they laugh. After they get no reaction from Jungkook, they straighten up and the first voice clears its throat, “We almost caught some dinner. Unfortunately, it seems to have gotten away from us. Have you happened to see anything?” You see Jungkook shift a little before he responds cockily, “If I had, you think I’d tell you?”

One of the figures steps towards Jungkook, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

“You think you’re brave, kid? Just be glad I’m in a good mood or you wouldn’t be able to open that sassy little trap of yours ever again.” You hear Jungkook scoff and he’s about to snap back when the second vampire hushes everyone.

“Do you smell that?”

What.

No.

He cannot smell you right now.

What the hell are they? Dogs? Since when could vampires sniff out their prey? You cover the gash on your ankle as best you can while still trying to hold your breath.

“What is it? What do you smell?”

“Blood.”

Please no.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Shut up.”

You peer through the bushes and see one of the figures has crouched closer to the ground and is sniffing, moving his head up and down almost like a dog looking for a treat. Your stomach twists into a knot of anxiety as you keep one hand clamped over your mouth, the other gripping your ankle like a vice.

Then something snaps somewhere to the right and the three vampires’ heads shoot up at the sound. You can almost hear the smirk in his voice when the first vampire whispers, “Gotcha.”

Eyes clenched shut and both your hands squeezing your mouth and ankle, you almost scream when you feel a hand grab your shoulder and yank you to your feet. But, once you look up, the fear fades away and is replaced by something you don’t understand when you see Jungkook’s red orbs staring back into your eyes.

"They're gone. Let's go."

The second he roughly lets go of you and you grunt in pain at the soreness in your ankle, you realize the feeling in your stomach.

Shame.

You hate that he makes you feel like this.

Your cheeks turn hot at the glare he sends your way before he’s stalking back through the bushes. It’s not like you care what he thinks of you, but you realize that the two of you never would have been in this situation if you hadn’t acted out so rashly. You just wish he wouldn’t act like you were a useless idiot.

“Are you coming or did you plan on spending the night here?” Jungkook grumbles ahead of you as he makes his way through the brush.

“My ankle…”

“Your ankle, what?”

“It hurts, I don’t know if I can-“

“Too bad. Get moving now unless you want to be killed and eaten for a midnight snack.”

Your eyes sting with tears that threaten to spill at the tone of his voice. You start to limp after him, wincing as quietly as you can. The blood on your ankle still feels a bit wet as it brushes against leaves and brambles in your path.

It’s so quiet in this forest apart from the sounds of your hushed footsteps that you can’t get rid of the pit in your stomach, wishing you had someone to talk to.

Even talking to Jungkook right now would make you feel better, his rude remarks aside. At least it wouldn’t sound like not a living soul but you was left on this earth. You clear your throat and whisper cautiously.

“J-Jungkook?”

Immediately, a growl leaves his throat and you bite your lips; stopping yourself from continuing. Instead, you start to fiddle with your fingers anxiously; tapping them in a certain beat to distract yourself. You focus on the rhythm you’ve created for your hands and the way Jungkook’s shirt moves as he walks. The moonlight barely seeping through the trees as you desperately try to keep an eye on him, seeing as he’s wearing all black and his hair is dark as night. The little sliver of moonlight is the only thing keeping him in your sight as he moves ahead of you stealthily.

It feels like an eternity since you started walking, but Jungkook is showing no signs of slowing down or that he knows (or doesn’t know for that matter) where the heck you two are and how far away the house is. He just keeps walking, not making a peep. It has to have been at least an hour since you left the spot where the two vampires almost found you. You should be home by now, right?

…right?

A sudden dread fills you as you watch the vampire ahead of you, walking as though he has a destination in mind. He’s not like…leading you away to get revenge for your stupidity…is he?

You accidently let the anxiety of that being the case seep into your chest just before he abruptly stops in front of you. Your heart stopping right along with him as you pull yourself up to a halt, frozen and still staring at his back.

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

a/n: sorry I was gone for so long. I'm back now and hopefully I'll have some reactions out soon, people seem to like those more anyway haha

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wordscorrupt · 5 years

Text

Febuwhump: Lost

Welcome to Febuwhump Day 1 where I completely disregard the whump and write fluff instead. There’s like 1% whump in this story. More like emotional whump. You’ll understand.

Tags: Superfamily, Toddler Peter, Squishy our beloved lost teddy bear

They had been at the park for almost two hours at this point. Tony’s joints were aching after running around after Peter for a solid hour as the three-year-old rushed through the entire playground structure numerous times, giggling as he demanded his daddy to chase him.

Now, Tony was waiting at the end of the slide Peter was going down and the second he caught a glimpse of the tiny legs, he reached out and grabbed the squirming toddler who let out an excited squeal.

“Gotcha ya!” Tony exclaimed, hugging Peter close to his chest before tickling his belly.

“Daddy!” Peter giggled, kicking his legs.

Tony smiled, securing Peter on his hip and reached over to smooth out the tiny curls that were plastered to his forehead. He pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead as the boy settled his head on Tony’s shoulder with a loud, exhausted sigh, signaling that their day here was officially coming to an end.

“I think it’s time to head home, baby, hmm? Papa’s making your favorite dinner,” Tony said, rubbing circles on his sons’ back.

“Mac n’ chee’e?” Peter called out hopefully.

“You bet your small cute butt,” Tony answered with a grin and playful pinch on the boy’s bottom.

Peter giggled before wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck, stuffing his face into the man’s shoulder. Tony knew he was going to be out like a light by the time he packed their bag and got back to the car and sure enough as he carefully peeled Peter from his chest and settled him into his car seat, he was fast asleep. He was able to get him strapped in with no trouble, pausing to press a kiss to the boy’s cheek before heading to the driver’s seat.

Steve met him down in the garage with a smile and kiss.

“How was the park?” Steve asked as he opened the door to Peter’s side, smiling softly as his eyes landed on his sleeping toddler.

“Hell,” Tony answered gruffly as he swung Peter’s bag onto his shoulder, “I don’t know where he gets all that energy from. I think I get less of a workout on one of our missions than I did today running around after him.”

Steve laughed, nodding his head in agreement as he reached in to grab Peter. Some days it felt like his super-soldier serum wasn’t always up to par with the energy needed to tackle on a hyperactive toddler. But the aftermath was a snuggly, sleepy Peter which Steve had determined was the best thing in the entire world.

Peter let out a little whine from being jostled around as Steve settled him in his arms.

“Ssh, baby. Go back to sleep,” Steve cooed, pressing a kiss to the boy’s head and gently rubbing his back to soothe him which worked in an instant as Peter wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and settled back into sleep.

Later that night, Tony was busy drawing up the schematics for a new arrow design when Steve came in carrying a drowsy Peter in his arms. They usually alternated night duties when it came to Peter so Steve had been busy the last half hour giving Peter his bath and getting him ready for bed which is usually included a minimum of three stories.

“Babe,” Steve called out, waiting for Tony to turn around, “do you have Squishy?”

Squishy was the teddy bear from Tony’s childhood that had been passed down to Peter the day he was born and there was not a single night that Peter had gone to sleep without the stuffed animal next to him.

“W’nt Squishy,” Peter reiterated.

Tony got up from his chair, nodding his head as he went over to Peter’s bag that he left on the kitchen counter. Peter had been adamant about bringing Squishy to the park with them earlier today. He remembered putting the teddy bear right on top so it must have been right where he left -

“Umm.” Tony fished throughout the bag, not a single Squishy in sight.

“Tony,” Steve called out wearily.

“Don’t worry,” Tony answered quickly, starting to take everything out of the bag, “it’s in here, somewhere. I’m sure of it.”

At this point, Peter’s head perked up at the growing worry and hastiness in his fathers’ voices.

“Papa, where’s Squishy?”

Steve smiled reassuringly, patting Peter’s back gently. “No worries, bubba. Daddy’s looking for him now.”

At that point, Tony turned around with an alarmed look. He had taken everything out of the bag and Peter’s beloved stuffed animal was not in there.

Steve tried not to panic at the moment. “Maybe, it’s in the car?” He suggested.

“Yeah, yeah, right. Of course,” Tony answered back as he ran to grab his keys.

“Papa,” Peter whined as Tony ran down to the garage.

“It’s okay, Petey. Squishy’s in the car and daddy is gonna go get him now. Let’s get into bed before daddy comes,” Steve said while turning around to walk to Peter’s bedroom.

“No,” Peter howled, fighting his way out of Steve’s arms, “not without Squishy!”

“Oh God,” Steve whispered under his breath, praying the teddy bear was actually in the car.

He knelt down in front of Peter, gently taking a hold of his hands and bringing the boy closer.

“Squishy is in the car and daddy’s bringing him up right this second,” Steve reassured at the same time Tony came out of the elevator empty-handed and pale-faced.

Peter turned around and upon seeing Tony immediately ran towards him, holding his arms out.

“Squishy, daddy!” He demanded and when came closer and saw both of Tony’s hands completely empty he finally decided he had enough of this situation.

Steve and Tony grimaced as Peter let out an ear-piercing cry before throwing himself onto the floor.

“I want Squishy!” Peter howled, kicking his feet.

“Tony, where the hell is it?” Steve asked as he approached his husband, having to sidestep Peter and his tantrum. There was no point in trying to console his toddler at this point. They both knew from past experiences dealing with Peter’s tantrums.

Tony was beside himself as he shook his head, running a hand over his face. “I must have left it at the park. I have to go get it.”

Steve stopped him as he started to make his way back to the elevator. “Tony, it’s the middle of the night. How are you going to see where you are looking? Plus at this point, someone else must have taken it.”

“I’m going to have to at least try, Steve! That’s Peter’s Squishy! I’m pretty sure he loves that thing more than us. You know he won’t ever go to sleep without it,” Tony answered back.

At this point, Peter had stopped shouting for his Squish and was just straight up screaming at the top of his lungs out instead.

“Look,” Tony said, grabbing his jacket, “I’m going to the park while you try to handle him. And you know how it usually is. Five minutes of screaming and he’ll tire himself out.”

Tony’s words could not have been more wrong. It was fifteen minutes into Peter’s crying, screaming filled temper tantrum and Steve felt like throwing his own at this point. He had tried every tactic from trying to put on one of Peter’s favorite cartoons to pulling out every other stuffed animal he had to distract Peter and finally trying to hug and rock Peter in his arms which just let to Peter kicking and punching his way out of his arms.

“Honey, please, I’m sorry. I know you want Squishy back. I want him to. But you have to calm down for me, baby,” Steve cooed as Peter started coughing and sputtering in the middle of crying. None of Peter’s tantrums had gone on this long and Steve was starting to worry it was going to lead to an asthma attack.

He was rummaging through the cabinet for one of Peter’s rescue inhalers, just in case, when the elevator door opened and Tony was running into the room.

“Squishy!” Peter exclaimed as he saw his beloved stuffed animal in his dad’s hands. Steve let out a deep breath, putting his head in his hands and was close to crying in relief.

“Here you go, baby,” Tony said as Peter ran up to him to grab the teddy bear. Peter grinned, sniffling as he hugged Squishy as tight as possible as if life depended on it. Which at this point, it might as well have.

Tony was ready to collapse from the relief when Peter wrapped an arm around his legs.

“Thank you, daddy. You found Squishy!”

Tony smiled softly, reaching down to pick up Peter. He glanced over at his husband who looked like he had just gone through World War II a second time around, yet had a tired grin on his face. He winked at him, before turning back to Peter and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Anything for my Petey.”

#superfamily #iron dad #tony stark #peter parker #steve rogers #lost #day 1 #febuwhump

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enchantedlokii · 4 years

Text

Obstacles

Chapter Three: Safe

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: language, mentions of death

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson

Mentioned: Natasha Romanoff, Thanos, Sarah Rogers, Shuri

Steve stood his ground, clutching his broken shield. His body felt like it was on fire, but he knew that he couldn’t back down. Not now, when they had finally brought everyone back. Not when Natasha had given her life to give them a chance. He had to keep fighting.

“Steve!” Steve turned his head and saw Bucky coming closer. His hands were gripping a rifle and every now and then he would stop and shoot at something behind Steve. It reminded Steve of the war. “What the h*ll is going on?”

Steve started to speak when they were attacked by a group of Chitauri. The two fought side-by-side for longer than Steve could keep track of. But when he finally got a break, he looked around and wasn’t able to find Bucky. He tried not to let the panic set in as he searched for his friend. “Buck?!”

“Steve!” Steve’s eyes widened as he finally found Bucky. He was fighting Thanos. Alone. The Titan took advantage of his moment’s distraction and picked him up, a hand held tightly around his neck. “H-help!”

“Bucky!” Steve ran forward but Thanos held out a fist and twisted his arm, green light surrounding him. He found himself frozen. He was forced to watch helplessly as Thanos’ grip tightened. “No! You’re killing him! Bucky!”

“Steve! Steve, I’m here.” Steve’s eyes shot open and frantically searched for the sound of the voice. He was surprised to see Bucky kneeling beside him with wide eyes. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here, Steve.”

“Buck?” he murmured, trying to steady his heavy breathing. He felt a hand on his chest, firm but gentle. His ears were ringing and his vision was blurry, but the touch was grounding.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Bucky said softly. Steve recognized the tone he was using. It was the same way he had spoken as he talked Steve through countless asthma attacks as they grew up. “Just breathe, Stevie. It was just a nightmare. I’m here. I’m safe. You’re safe. Just breathe for me, alright?”

Steve nodded slowly, focusing on breathing. As he came to more, he noticed the worry shining in the blue of Bucky’s eyes. He suddenly felt guilt wash over him. He knew that his friend was already having trouble sleeping. He was struggling mentally more than Steve was, but Steve must have woken him up screaming. Still, Bucky was by his side, rubbing his arm gently as he calmed down like he had done hundreds of times in the past. “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

“Shh,” Bucky hushed him, moving his metal hand from Steve’s chest and letting it brush the hair away from his face. “You have no reason to be sorry.”

“I woke you up,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch. It was comforting, reminding him that like Bucky said, they were safe. Thanos was gone. He was dead. He couldn’t hurt them anymore.

“I was still awake,” Bucky told him. Steve wasn’t sure if that was true, but he knew that it was likely. “You okay now? Feeling better?”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he murmured. He did feel better with Bucky there by his side. He wasn’t sure he was okay, really, but he would be. As long as Bucky was safe, he was okay. He let his eyes drift close. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Bucky whispered. “I, um, I hope it’s okay I came in. I hated to barge in but you were so upset and I just— I couldn’t just not do anything, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve said quietly, reaching to brush a strand of hair out of Bucky’s face. He smiled up at his friend. It was a bit wavy with the nightmare fresh in his mind, but it was genuine and he hoped Bucky could see that. “I’m glad you came.”

Bucky gave him a small smile. “I-I guess I should go now, if you’re sure you’re alright.”

Steve was frozen for a moment as Bucky started to scoot off the bed, but snapped out of it and touched his friend’s arm. Bucky looked at him with a worried expression. “Will. . . Will you stay?” He was afraid that Bucky might say no. He probably wasn’t ready to be in the same bed as Steve again. He might never be. But if he slept outside Steve’s door, Steve wondered if maybe he was just nervous. Maybe he wanted to be closer to Steve but was afraid to.

Steve’s worries faded when Bucky smiled softly. “Sure, Stevie.” Steve hadn’t noticed the returned nickname earlier, but he caught it now in his less-panicked state. “Let me go get a pillow.”

It didn’t take Bucky long to leave and return with a pillow, and Steve silently wondered if he had been laying outside his room again. He noticed that his friend was a bit hesitant as he climbed back into the bed and laid down, but he didn’t mention it. “It’s been awhile since we’ve done this,” Steve murmured as Bucky faced him.

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. Steve can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “You were smaller then. I was always afraid you would get sick from the cold. Even if I was right there with you.”

“Sometimes I wish I could undo it,” Steve admitted. “Not go back in time and never get the serum in the first place, but get rid of it now. I’m tired of fighting, Buck.”

“I am too,” Bucky sighed. He hesitantly reached and rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “But as stupid as I think you were for letting them do this to you, I’m grateful that you’re not so sick anymore. That was the hardest part about leaving for the war; knowing that you might not still be alive when I got back home. It. . . It really f*cking scared me sometimes. Especially after that last bout of pneumonia. I wanted to believe that you would be fine. That you could beat it again if it did happen. But it was so close. I was so close to losing you.”

“Oh, Buck. . .” Steve twisted his arm to put his hand over Bucky’s. He could see that his friend’s eyes were glistening. Bucky never cried, but Steve could faintly remember him sobbing at his bedside when he was in the hospital, begging him not to leave. He knew better than to mention it once he was better. “It’s okay now.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky closed his eyes. “Just. . . Please, if you ever have the chance to undo this. . .”

“I won’t,” Steve promised him. “I won’t.”

The two didn’t talk much after that. Steve was faintly aware of Bucky falling asleep not long after they fell silent. It took him a bit longer to fall into a fitful sleep. Again, he had nightmares. This time, about being sick as a child.

“Steve, Sweetie, you have to eat.” Sarah murmured. Steve was aware of a cool rag on his forehead, but he was burning up. He didn’t feel like he could move, let alone eat. “Please, Dear.”

“Is he going to be okay, Mrs. Rogers?” That was Bucky. He was on the other side of Steve’s bed. Steve thought he could feel his larger hand in Steve’s small one. Worry edged his young voice.

“I hope so, Jay,” Sarah sighed. “He’s never been this sick before.”

Steve woke with a start. He glanced over and saw that Bucky was still asleep beside him. He was glad that he hadn’t woke his friend, but part of him longed for the comfort that came with hearing him talk in such a soothing tone. He knew it was a selfish thought, but he didn’t try to push it away as he rolled over and grabbed his phone. It was past five now, so he wouldn’t be going back to sleep.

A few minutes after he started scrolling through his news feed, a text popped up at the top of the screen.

Sam 🦅 || 5:35 a.m.

Hey, Man. Up for a run in a couple hours? Barnes can come too.

Steve || 5:36 a.m.

You in Brooklyn?

Sam 🦅 || 5:38 a.m.

Thought I would try it out for awhile. Get a few months free rent with that Blip Recovery Program. Couldn’t pass that up.

Steve snickered at his friend. He knew good and well he could have stayed with Steve until he found a place, but he was glad to let the government take care of him for a bit. In Sam’s words, they owed him.

Steve || 5:39 a.m.

Nice. Buck’s still asleep but I’ll see if he wants to come. Want to meet up here?

Sam 🦅 || 5:40 a.m.

Sure. Ping me the address. 🤙🏿

“Turn your phone down,” Bucky mumbled beside him, turning over and raising an arm to cover his exposed ear. “Tryna sleep here.”

Steve smiled down at him, clicking the phone onto silent. “Sorry, Buck,” he whispered, moving a hand to his shoulder. “Go back to sleep. It’s early.”

Bucky hummed in reply. He stayed still for a bit before rolling back over. He reached an arm over Steve, causing him to blush. He wasn’t sure it was intentional. He probably did it in his sleep, but it made him feel warm.

Steve quietly returned his phone to the nightstand before shuffling closer to Bucky. Bucky’s eyes opened a bit and he seemed to glare at him. “You’re just as fidgety as you were when we were kids,” he mumbled, smiling sleepily. “What time is it?”

“Almost six,” Steve told him, smiling back. He had an urge to move a hand to his friend’s long hair, but he resisted it. Bucky didn’t want that. He was sure of it. “I’ll get up so you can go back to sleep.”

Bucky frowned slightly, his eyes opening a bit more. “Don’t go,” he pouted. For a moment, he looked like a kid again. There was a small spark on his eyes. One that Steve hadn’t seen in so long. “You’re warm.”

Steve chuckled slightly, shaking his head. “You’re such a child,” he teased. Still, he waited a few minutes before getting up to get ready. He would love to stay in bed with Bucky all morning, but he had to get ready before Sam got there. “Hey, I’m gonna go run with Sam in a bit. You can come if you want, but it’s fine if you want to stay home and sleep.”

Bucky opened his eyes again and raised an eyebrow. “Why you gonna run with bird boy?” he asked.

“Because he asked if I wanted to,” Steve replied. He had told Bucky they used to run together, but he was sure that his friend was a bit too tired to remember that at the moment. “He’s going to be here in an hour and then you can have some peace and quiet.”

“I wanna go,” Bucky protested. “Can’t let your go have fun without me.”

Steve smiled, glad that Bucky didn’t seem hesitant about hanging out with Sam. The first few times they met didn’t go too well, but they seemed to be okay now. He knew Sam was finally starting to trust Bucky after Shuri fixed the Hydra programming. He could see past the Winter Soldier now when he was reluctant to before. “Wouldn’t be fun without you.”

Bucky smirked before he rolled over to get out of bed. “I’m telling him you said that.”

#marvel #mcu #avengers #stucky #steve x bucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #winter soldier #white wolf #falcon #post endgame

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etlunainmorte · 5 years

Text

🎸 Saved By The Siren 🎸

***

~ A Nero X Reader set in an Alternate Universe.

~ This is dedicated to one of my friends, @shadowrosess , who loves Nero, and to you, Nero fans! I hope you like this.

~ Enjoy!

***

"I QUIT!" The band's lead vocalist raged as she slammed the door closed on the way out, startling the other contestants.

"YEAH! FUCK YOU!" The band's lead guitar screamed back, making the other people shook their heads.

But, who could really blame him? Nero and Lady just couldn't get along well from the start.

"YA MESSED UP BIG TIME, PSYCHO!" Nico, the band's bassist shrieked hysterically at him as she pointed her cigar stick at him.

"WHO NEEDS A VOCALIST LIKE THAT, ANYWAY? SHE JUST STRUTS ON THE STAGE AND SHOW OFF!"

"Guys, we really need a vocalist now,or we're gonna get disqualified." Lucia, the timid drummer nervously spoke from the corner of the room, not wanting to be shout at by the ever grumpy Nero.

"The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water,... and breeds reptiles of the mind." V, the ever calm keyboardist, quoted, not once taking his eyes off his William Blake illustrated collection.

Nero face palmed.

Ever since that incident involving Lady erupted, of her planning to leave the band for a much more popular one to become famous, Nero has been on a rampage, picking unnecessary fights with her and, therefore, almost ruining the band.

And who could just put them together but him? Not Nico, who just messes around ( one time, she almost set the old and smelly studio they were practicing in on fire with the cigar butt she carelessly threw away ), not Lucia, who was just too timid and shy to ever lead any kind of group ( she almost depleted the band's funds by having no guts to refuse the cute little scouts that always come knocking in to sell them all sorts and flavors of cookies ), and definitely not V, who was either busy reading, or busy being a regular member of the National Orchestra as a Concertmaster ( who was so talented as heck, he rejected the last twenty or so who auditioned as vocalist, only accepting Lady because he wasn't there to see or hear her sing due to one of his asthma attacks ).

So, simply put, they're all doomed.

No.

More like fucked up.

All of a sudden, Nero's phone vibrated. He took it out from his pocket and saw that his dad was calling him.

"Ugh, him again?" Nero muttered, not really wanting to answer the call.

"Answer that call, ya don't want him to come in here and drag ya away from him like a brat." Nico suggested calmly.

And so, with a deep sigh, he answered the call -

"What are you doing right now,... scum?"

"Fuck off, Vergil!"

"Don't you disrespect me in front of your so - called peers. If I hear that you get beaten by Dante's band once more, I will have no choice but to take away that wailing and foul - smelling instrument of yours, drag you out of there, myself, and send you to boarding school in Berlin."

"D- DAD! PLEASE! NOT MY ELECTRIC GUITAR!"

"Don't you ever dare lose,... scum."

And with that last threat, Nero's father hung up. The place was almost filled with loud applause and cheers a few seconds later as the last band just finished performing. The door opened, and in came the dynamic guitar and singing duo of Dante and Trish.

The sight of Nero's ( and Vergil's ) rival Dante looking so proud and confident that he'll win this battle of the bands made his stomach churn. And before he could even turn away to not be noticed by the man, his father's younger brother saw him and immediately went towards him.

"Hey, nephew! How's it going?" Dante greeted as he put a heavy arm around Nero.

"Piss off, Dante!" Nero growled.

"Ooh! What's with the little puppy growl? Oh! Let me guess: Lady left you, didn't she?"

"FUCK. OFF!" Nero pushed Dante away in anger, his uncle's taunt proving that his statement was, indeed, real.

But, Dante just smiled and chuckled at him as he shook his head helplessly. "Oh, well, I wonder how Vergil would react to this news?!"

"Stop."

"Maybe he'll come down here and take away your second hand guitar! Or! Maybe," Dante taunted once more as he stalked closer to Nero like a predator. " ...he'll send you to that military boarding school in Berlin!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Nero finally exploded as he grabbed Dante's collar.

"No! You shut up, DEAD WEIGHT!"

"Okay, okay! Guys, stop!" Nico intervened, successfully drawing Nero out before he could make a nasty scene in front of the people.

"What do we have here?" One of the organizers who saw the argument came in and asked.

"Oh, nothin'! Nothin' to worry 'bout!" Nico lied as she laughed hysterically.

The organizer only shook his head and left. After that, the door opened and a head popped out from it.

"SWEET SURRENDER?!" The person called the name of their band.

"Yeah! We're here!" Nero answered unwillingly, flinching at his own words.

"YOU'RE UP! AND MAKE IT FAST!"

"Good luck, kid! Adios!" Dante mocked once more as he saluted on his way out.

"I'll send you my autograph." Trish said as she blew all of them a good bye kiss and gave V a very sultry look, to which the poet only ignored.

All of four of Sweet Surrender's members looked at each other.

"What do we do now?" Lucia, who was already in panic mode from the start, stuttered as she clutched her drum sticks.

"We perform as usual." Nero replied.

"What if we fail? Yer dad's gonna send ya to boardin' school fer real!" Nico added as she pushed the rim of her glasses up the bridge of her freckled nose.

"Stop saying that, will you? I will sing in place of that bitch."

"But, Nero! That song is meant to be sung as a duet! This will not work! This will be a disaster!"

"Whoa, Lucia! Calm down! Trust me. We'll get through this!"

After those words, Nero, Nico, and Lucia turned to V, expecting him to say some words of encouragement.

And to this, the poetic musician only answered, "A man can't soar too high,... when he flies with his own wings."

"Okay, V. You're an interesting guy but, you're right." Nero responded as all of them faced the door that led to the stage. "Let's get this show on the road!"

However, no matter how hard V tried to give them enough words of motivation, courtesy of William Blake, they just couldn't shake the foreboding feeling.

That something bad was going to happen.

Nico, Lucia, and V may have done their best to perform their parts, but Nero's song, which was supposedly a duet, just couldn't, would not, work out. It just felt wrong.

And not even a few minutes in and they were already being booed by their audience. This made Lucia even more nervous and stopped playing altogether. Nico tried to pitch in for her but failed miserably because she lacked proper practice. V, on the other hand, remained calm as he multi - tasked, playing both Lucia and Nico's part on his keyboard.

"LOSER!" A girl from the crowd shrieked as she threw her candy wrappers at Nero. Some people took this as an opportunity to throw things at them.

"Look at them! They look so pathetic!" Dante laughed from the back of the crowd, enjoying Sweet Surrender's downfall. "I guess it's boarding school for Nero now - "

"HEY, GUYS! So sorry I'm late!"

Everyone in the room went dead silent as one unknown girl wearing a floral dress came up the stage and joined Nero.

"I'm sorry. Who are you?" Nero questioned as he watched the girl take hold of one of the microphones.

The girl just winked at him and gave him a confident smile. "We're gonna do this, right?"

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!" Lucia bravely screamed at the top of her lungs as she tapped her sticks together for their cue. And with the wailing of Nero's guitar, they played their song once more.

"Oh, oh! Oh, oh, oh! So jet lagged!" Nero started singing. "What time is it where you are?"

"I miss you more than anything." The mysterious girl sang, her beautiful voice surprising Nero, and the rest of the band.

"And back at home you feel so far."

"Waitin' for the phone to ring."

"It's gettin' lonely livin' upside down. I don't even wanna be in this town. Tryin' to figure out the time zone's makin' me crazy!"

"You say good morning when it's midnight. Going out of my head, alone in this bed. I wake up to your sunset. And it's driving me mad, I miss you so bad. And my heart, heart, heart is so jet - lagged! Heart, heart, heart is so jet - lagged! Heart, heart, heart is so jet - lagged, is so jet - lagged!"

"Oh, oh!" Nico, Lucia, and V sang at the same time the people stopped booing them and started bobbing their heads along with the song, actually enjoying the performance. And by the time the unknown girl started singing, the crowd started to finally cheer for them.

"What time is it where you are?" She candidly sang as she winked once more at Nero, who really enjoying their performance.

"Five more days and I'll be home."

"I keep your picture in my car."

"I hate the thought of you alone."

The girl took the mic out from the stand and pointed at the crowd. "I've been keepin' busy all the time just to try to keep you off my mind. Tryin' to figure out the time zones makin' me crazy!"

She, then, went over to Nero's side and by the time they're singing on the same mic, the crowd just went wild cheers.

"You say good morning when it's midnight. Going out of my head, alone in this bed. I wake up to your sunset, And it's drivin' me mad, I miss you so bad. And my heart, heart, heart is so jet - lagged! Heart, heart, heart is so jet - lagged! Heart, heart, heart is so jet - lagged, is so jet lagged!"

"Oh, oh! Oh, oh, oh!"

"I miss you so bad."

"I wanna share your horizon."

"I miss you so bad."

"And see the same sun rising."

"I miss you so bad."

"And turn the hour hand back to when you were holding me."

"You say good morning, when it's midnight. Going out of my head, alone in this bed. I wake up to your sunset. And it's drivin' me mad, I miss when you say good morning, but it's midnight. Going out of my head. Alone in this bed. I wake up to your sunset. And it's drivin' me mad, I miss you so bad. And my heart, heart, heart is so jet - lagged! Heart, heart, heart is so jet - lagged! Heart, heart, heart is so jet-lagged, is so jet-lagged, is so jet - lagged!"

"Oh, oh!"

"So jet - lagged!"

Nero and his friends, so was Dante, who was still watching, couldn't believe the amount of love they received from the audience.

All thanks to this mysterious girl.

"That was crazy!" Nero told her the moment they went back to the room. "You're really awesome!"

"Thanks!" The girl answered with that charming smile of hers.

The smile that made Nero's heart skip a beat. She's just,... so beautiful, and charming, and,...

"What's your name?" Nero asked her.

"Oh, you can call me (Y/N)."

"Heya, (Y/N)! I'm Nico." Nico introduced herself even before Nero could shake her hand.

"Hello, Nico!"

"I'm Lucia, the,... drummer,... at the back. You know,..." Sweet Lucia shyly introduced herself.

"You were awesome back there, Lucia!"

"Really?!" The girl's face lit up in excitement.

"Yes!"

"And I'm Nero. Nice to meet you." He said as he was finally able to touch her smooth hands.

"Same here, Nero." And she gave him that charming smile with that cherry colored lips again.

"Hey, where's V?" Nico asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"At the back, hiding from Trish." Lucia answered.

"Poor tattooed Shakespeare,..." Nico shook her head in disbelief.

"They're gonna announce the winner!" Lucia excitedly said as she pulled her friends back to the stage,...

... only for them to get disappointed when the host announced Dante and Trish's name.

(Y/N) noticed Nero's sadness and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulders. The boy smiled at him and shook his head.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"No, Nero. Thank YOU."

They were about to make way for Dante and Trish to perform their encore when the people started yelling their name!

"SWEET SU - RREN - DER! SWEET SU - RREN - DER! SWEET SU - RREN - DER! SWEET SU - RREN - DER!"

"OH, MY GAWD! THEY WANT US BACK!" Nico shrieked as she happily jumped up and down.

"Then, we're gonna give 'em what they want. Isn't that right, Nero?!" (Y/N) confidently announced as she nudged the boy's arm, who still couldn't believe what just happened.

"Okay! We're gonna do this!" Nero took his guitar and positioned himself in front of the mic once more. "Where's V?!"

"Right here." The poet calmly said as he reappeared and faced his keyboard once more.

"ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!" Lucia gave the cue, finally confident for their sweet, sweet encore.

After that, it was safe to say that nobody's instrument, foul - odored, second - hand, or no, got taken away by an angry parent. There were no more old, combustible and smelly practice rooms because they were invited by a talent manager named Morrison to perform to much better and popular places. There were no more girl scouts selling one particularly shy drummer some cookies because they were now being offered M&Ms and more backstage and for free. One skinny poet has to run and hide more often from crazed fangirls because someone released his photos and videos on Instagram, which quickly became viral. And no one got sent to a boarding school in any part of Europe.

And (Y/N) and Nero?

Let's just say that their first duet was the start of a truly sweet and meaningful romance.

***

🎸🎸🎸

***

#devil may cry #nero sparda #saved by the siren #devil may oneshot #nero x reader #nero x you #musical #nico #lucia #v #dante #trish #vergil #morrison

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bookwyrmbran · 5 years

Text

Happy Wednesday (an Interlude)

Last night I spent six hours at the ER, almost all of it with pretty severe pain in my left side that just. kept. spreading. It was a busy night. By the time a nurse got around to me I’d spent an hour in the waiting room, another hour and a half alone in an exam room. I was in pretty bad shape.

I have trauma around being left alone to deal with medical crises in addition to the generalized anxiety. I’ve also got vocal cord dysfunction, which manifests like a really nasty asthma attack and chest compression, isn’t responsive to medication or treatment, and can be set off by air contaminants, anxiety, or muscle spasms elsewhere in my torso. I had spent at that point about five hours trying to control my anxiety and pain levels and muscle tension enough to, y’know, keep breathing, and not set off a VCD attack. An effort, given said trauma, and anxiety, and the way the pain was hanging out in the 8.5-9 range.

Loki was there, for which I am glad and grateful, flitting around, never settling on one spot or one shape, trying to distract me, and I love him for it. But Odin was the one at my back, anchoring me enough to let me keep breathing, keep moving through the pain, letting it come and go. Odin was the one calling me back when the anxiety started spiraling, when my breathing started to go, when the flashbacks snapped at me. Pain, anxiety, panic, breath -- yeah.

I was still lucid, somehow, when an RN finally came, enough to explain the laundry list of allergies, to hold my arm still for the IV. Still lucid, still breathing somehow through the pain. I’ve been at that point before in hospital and it has not gone so well for me, not alone. Panic and pain, loss of breath -- I don’t do well riding those on my own. I know damn well that that was the Old Man, am grateful as fuck for it. As a support, as someone to brace against....

Not too long ago I was terrified of him, had encountered too many of the awful narratives passed around by certain people, was convinced that any interaction would leave me wrecked, always and only worse for the wear, that he would inspire nothing but rage or anxiety or panic, incite breathing problems for the hell of it, that he would demand inevitably more than I would or could give. It wasn’t a pretty picture, wasn’t an accurate picture, and I am fucking glad I got past it, that he was patient enough to let me get past it, to a place where I could lean on him instead of heading for the hills. Because as it turns out, I can’t think of anyone who would have done me better, last night, and -- wouldn’t you figure -- it was precisely his familiarity with pain and panic and breath that I needed.

Happy Wednesday, y’all.

#upg #personal #odindeity #lokideity #anxiety #medical stuff #stabbing pain in the side #the challenge of breathing while spear-struck #breath and panic #wod-#...on point much old man #anyway kidney stones are awful #and I still don't have good pain meds for them #but #happy wednesday

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harvestleaves · 5 years

Text

Breathless at the Ballpark (Undrafted)

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,405

Summary: Maz ignores the signs of an oncoming asthma attack and worries his teammates.

It was a warm summer day when Maz pulled up to the ballpark, the pollen visible in the air as he wrinkled his nose up in disgust. He’d woken up in the middle of the night having an asthma attack and ended up only getting about four hours of sleep. Taking a wheezy breath, Maz dug through his baseball bag for his inhaler and frowned when he pulled it out, noticing that the device had only five doses left.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he shook up the medication and brought the inhaler up to his lips to take a breath before he shakily exhaled the bitter medicine. Hearing a knock on his window, Maz looked up to see Pat peering at him in concern and unrolled his window to smile at his best friend.

“Hey, what's up?” Maz asked curiously as he quickly shoved his inhaler back into his bag, hoping the other male wouldn’t ask about it.

“Not much. You feeling okay?”

There was a nod to his now-closed bag as Maz gave Pat a look that pretty much said ‘drop it’.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, if you’re not feeling up to playing today, no one is going to be upset with you.” Pat’s brows were drawn close in concern as he eyed Maz, noting his slightly labored breathing in addition to the way his shoulders were heaving with each raspy breath.

“I said I’m fine, now drop it,” Maz finally snapped with a glare to Pat, the outburst shocking his friend.

“Okay, calm down. You’re really fucking pissy this morning,” Pat snarked right back as he turned to head down to the dugout, shoving past Dells as he got to the field.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dells asked curiously as he looked over where Pat was fuming at the end of the bench, throwing his bag into the corner with a glare.

“Fucking Maz. His fucking asthma’s acting up, but he refuses to take the game off,” Pat huffed out as he turned to aim his glare at Maz, who was setting his bag down next to Fotch.

“Tell Ty? Maybe he’ll force Maz to sit on the bench this game,” Dells offered with a shrug, not really sure what else to say as he turned to watch Maz as well.

“He won’t listen and you and I both know Ty won’t bench our best fucking player,” Pat snapped, his worry coming out more as anger as he sat down with a huff.

Maz ran a hand through his hair as he sat down next to Fotch, letting out a wheeze filled breath as he pulled a water bottle out of his bag to take a swig, not noticing when his inhaler fell out into the dirt.

Fotch raised an eyebrow at the blue object and reached down to pick it up, frowning at the low counter. He gently nudged Maz before handing the object to him. “Hey, you feeling okay kid? You’re wheezing pretty badly.”

Maz sighed heavily as he took his inhaler from Fotch and took another dose of it, shaking his head as he took another swig of his water. “Not really, but what choice do I have, everyone is counting on me.”

“You could sit this game out if you’re really feeling this awful, but I’m not going to push you. I’m guessing your stubbornness is the reason Murray is currently throwing a fit?” Fotch asked, a slightly amused smirk on his lips as he glanced over at where Pat was still huffing on the bench.

“Most likely. But I know my symptoms and I know when I need to take it easy. I just wish he trusted my decisions more, ya know?” Maz sighed, shoving the inhaler back in his bag as Ty came into the dugout to give them the lineup for the game.

--------------------

Maz was honestly surprised that his lungs had held out until the fourth inning. Though the longer he was out in the summer humidity, mixed with the high pollen count, the more he could feel his breath start to catch more as he got ready for his up to bat. He couldn’t remember the last time his allergies had made his asthma act up this badly, and he knew that he was definitely going to need his inhaler again once he was back on the bench.

“Maz, you’re up,” Ty snapped as he looked up from his clipboard to watch Maz approach home plate. Dells had already told him about Maz’s condition and he’d been keeping a very close eye on the shortstop throughout the first half of the game. So far, he wasn’t too worried about his teammate, but Ty had noticed how labored Maz’s breathing had become after his last at-bat.

Maz closed his eyes to refocus for the pitch before he stepped into the batters' box. He watched the pitcher intently before swinging on the second pitch and running for first. Smirking when he was counted safe, Maz reached down to adjust his batting gloves before he turned to watch Barone strut to home plate. Coughing into his elbow, Maz winced a little at the tightness that clenched his chest before he focused on the next pitch, taking a few steps towards second base.

The next pitch was quick and Maz grinned when Barone hit it over the fence, running past second and around third before he ran back to home plate and turned to high-five Barone as the other man rounded third to head home, oblivious to the fact that he suddenly couldn’t catch his breath. Barone quickly returned the high-five before he surprised Maz by tugging him into a tight hug, only pulling back when he heard the harsh wheezes coming from his teammate.

“Maz? You okay? Breathe,” Barone frowned as he pulled back from the hug, narrowing his gaze at the other man, gently setting his hands on Maz’s shoulders.

“Fuck, it’s his asthma. Someone grab his fucking inhaler!” Pat yelled back to the dugout as he jogged over to Maz and Barone, gently setting his hand on Maz’s back to lead him to the benches.

Turning his head to look at Pat, Maz leaned slightly against him and reached up to press a hand to his heaving chest, panic starting to rise as he was led to the dugout and sat down.

“I’ve got his inhaler, sit him upright,” Vinnie stated as he tossed the inhaler to Pat before digging through his own bag for an extra bottle of water. “Should we call an ambulance?” he asked nervously as he watched Maz gasp the medicine in.

“Shut up, give it a minute to kick in. Maz, you feeling better?” Pat asked gently as he opened the bottle of water to offer to Maz, his brows creased in concern.

Maz squeezed his eyes shut, letting the medicine sit in his lungs for a few seconds before he shakily exhaled and reached for the water Pat was holding out. “Th-thanks, I’m okay,” he wheezed out as finally opened his eyes to look at the faces of his worried teammates.

“Good, now why the fuck didn’t you say that your asthma was acting up?!” Pat finally snapped with a frown to Maz.

“I dunno, I guess I just didn’t want to let you guys down. You’re always counting on me.” Maz admitted as he looked nervously back down at his inhaler, avoiding everyone’s gaze once more.

“Hey, it’s okay to ask for help. Sometimes you need a reminder that we care more about your health and wellbeing than we do about the score of a game. You can’t score a run if you can’t breathe,” Fotch said as he settled a hand on Maz’s shoulder, causing the shortstop to look up in surprise. “Now, I think we all can agree that he’s done for the day, right Ty?”

“Yeah. Maz, you’re benched for the rest of the game, Barone, you’re in for Maz,” Ty agreed as he wrote the change on his clipboard.

“Of course, I’ve got you covered Maz.”

“Now, let’s get back to the game,” Ty huffed as he grabbed his helmet and bat to head to home plate.

Smiling slightly at the eccentricities of his teammates, Maz settled back against the wall of the dugout as he watched Ty walk onto the field, glad that the D-Backs always had his back.

A/N: You can also read this fic on Ao3 here.

#Undrafted #Undrafted fic #John Mazello #Pat Murray #Vinnie Malzahn #Arthur Barone

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loreweaver-universe · 6 years

Text

All right, all right, people are started to get annoyed rather than laughing, so let’s cut this short. Here’s the story of how my mom accidentally poisoned me!

So I have asthma. This went undiagnosed until I enlisted in the Air Force in 2007 and subsequently passed out in formation less than a week in. (It went undiagnosed, interestingly, because in the words of the Air Force medic who tested me, I have the lung capacity of a lifelong wind instrument player or long-distance runner--so it all muddled out to slightly worse than average, and we thought I just got winded easily. Nope! I’m a weird mutant whose weird mutation just doesn’t work. Go figure.) People with asthma, it turns out, are quite often allergic to aspirin--something I didn’t take once in my entire runup to my twenties.

The first time I took an aspirin, because I’d run out of ibuprofen (the stuff in Advil) and decided to try something else, I just kinda wheezed a little and didn’t think much of it.

The second time I took aspirin, it was worse, and I realized I was having some kind of weird reaction, so I stopped taking it. Then I found out I was allergic because asthma, went to the store, bought a five hundred pill candybottle of ibuprofen, put it on my shelf, and didn’t have another headache for four months.

The next time I had a headache, the ibuprofen gave me a pretty rough asthma attack. Because! Guess what! There’s a whole class of what’s called Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drugs, or NSAIDs, that are perfectly fine for asthmatic people to take...until they trigger their aspirin allergy.

After that, they’re poison.

At this point, I do a bunch of research and discover that nearly every over-the-counter painkiller available to me is ibuprofen-based. The stuff that I’m told is safe for me to take is acetaminophen, the stuff in Tylenol. Half the acetaminophen-based painkillers out there have ibuprofen in them, too. It’s a nightmare finding stuff safe for me to take, and around this time my sinus polyps are really getting going and I’m suffering daily pressure headaches which is a whole other ball of fun let me tell you. So I get in the habit of buying 500-pill candybottles of generic 500mg Tylenol tablets, keep a general eye out for safety’s sake, and otherwise largely leave the whole thing on the shelf.

I make it to my second year of college without another incident.

Spring of 2014, my mother’s in Bangor, picking me up so we can have dinner out, and I complain about headaches when I get in the car. (I had surgery to remove the sinus polyps! They’re growing back by this point.) She hems and haws, because she has a couple Aleve in a plastic baggie that she keeps around for her personal painkilling needs, and she can’t remember whether they’re ibuprofen or not. We look it up--there’s no ibuprofen or aspirin in it, hooray! It’s got something called naproxen sodium instead.

At this point, we aren’t aware that acetaminophen isn’t just safe for me to take, it’s the only safe painkiller for me to take. Naproxen sodium is another NSAID, and I’m in for a rough night, because I pop that sucker in my mouth like it’s the cure for nose cancer and we head off to Chili’s to try them out for dinner.

I’m pretty much okay when we walk in the door. We order appetizers--I get a little dish with soft pretzel sticks in it--and we get to chatting about life. As the conversation goes on, I get a little coughy, and a little snotty, and then I have to excuse myself to the bathroom a few times to blow my nose, because at this point my respiratory system is trying to strangle itself. The pretzel sticks come and I’m starting to wheeze, but I barely care because I tried one of those bastards and they were goddamn incredible. My mother starts to get scared, despite my insistence that this has happened before, and she and I eventually get up to leave because she wants to drive me to the emergency room. While she’s apologizing to the restaurant manager (who insists on turning down her offer to pay for the food we ordered), I dash back to the table and grab the five remaining pretzel sticks, because screw leaving those behind.

So begins the most memorable car ride of my entire life.

Mom’s driving through downtown Bangor, starting to panic, because at this point I am audibly choking on my own throat, but I’m on cloud nine because these god damn pretzel sticks, man, holy shit. I’m snarfing them down, and babbling about how good they are--and anyone who’s spent any amount of time around my mother and I at the same time knows my absolute favorite game is making her laugh--and generally doing my best (somewhat on purpose, even) to distract her from the fact that her son is suffocating in the passenger’s seat. She, meanwhile, is doing her damnedest not to swerve off the road, because she’s alternating between hysterical tears of terror and hysterical tears of laughter. She rolls down the window so I can get some fresh air, and I alternate between gulping down oxygen and suffocating myself with pretzel sticks because why are these so goddamn good.

Mom’s losing her shit laughing when we pull up to the hospital, and I’m red-faced, pretzel-less, and starting to slow down, so she pulls up to the ambulance door and runs inside. After being directed by a very annoyed desk clerk to pull around the side, we go inside, and while I make a few more half-hearted efforts to tell jokes, I spend most of the rest of my wait red-faced and desperately dragging breaths through my closing windpipe. I’m in a bad way, guys. Mom finally gets them to bring me in ahead of some people who aren’t suffocating to death, and they pump me full of some kind of Benadryl cocktail, which makes me loopy and high and sleepy. I spend a few hours drifting in and out of consciousness, high off my ass (and boy howdy do I hate being high) and at one point, because I’m in no state of mind to do social math, I tease Mom about getting me that Dave Strider figurine I wanted. Then i go back to sleep.

Eventually, I’m good to go. I get sent off with some information about my condition, plus the knowledge that this particular allergic reaction gets worse every time it happens. The next time it happens, I may die before I get to the hospital. Mom takes me to a pharmacy, buys me a pair of epi-pens I never wind up needing because I get religious about being careful what I put in my mouth (I still have ‘em, because I’m not throwing away three h u n d r e d dollars of medicine, what the hell is wrong with you) and...well, honestly, the night past that point is a bit of a blur, because I’m loopy from the meds and just had a near-death experience.

A couple weeks later, though, I got a surprise in the mail!

This is Dave Strider! I almost died to get him. Literally!

To this day, Mom and I tease each other about how she spent my entire childhood not murdering my insufferable mug, only to almost kill me by accident once I was out of her hair. I’ve been sending her screenshots of your reblogs and tags and discord messages and she has been laughing her ass off.

So, I’m sorry I strung you all along for that long, but I did say my favorite game was making my mother laugh.

#homestuck #stuckbloggin #bloggin #subloggin #inbetween #loreweaver #momweaver

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just-jordie-things · 6 years

Text

Confinement Syndrome - Stiles Stilinski

word count: 2817 warnings: swearing, panic attacks request: 40 with Stiles 😍 this is so something he would call Lydia about prompt #40 - “Hey, you okay? Whats going on?” “She won’t stop crying, and I don’t know what to do!”

The Dread Doctors have proven to be a real pain in the ass, as Stiles had so lightly put it during the pack meeting at Scott’s house.

“It’s… it’s like you can’t even breathe” Malia was explaining her own experience with them, though it wasn’t like it was a real sunny moment she was sharing. “I felt so powerless, I couldn’t do a damn thing to help Tracy and I… well I never want to feel like that again”

(y/n’s) mind wandered to what it must feel like, to be a strong werecoyote and to suddenly have that completely shredded from you. Malia always did her best to help, and her assets as a coyote were what she relied on to do that. (y/n) was only human, so she knew all to well the fragility of her life, not to mention her bones. But right now that was the last thing she wanted to be thinking about.

“Really?” Kira chriped in. “I’ve felt the complete opposite… as if I’m learning control for the first time and that I’ve been completely taken over by the kitsune itself. Like we aren’t one anymore, like we’re both fighting for control” She said. (y/n) shuddered, turning away to hide the fact. Stiles, who stood next to her, looked over to her, his expression silently asking if she was okay.

‘Don’t worry about it’ She mouthed back, so the werewolves couldn’t listen in. He faced his attention back to Kira as she continued to speak, but his hand reached for (y/n’s) hidden behind him. Her fingers linking between his with ease.

As Scott began to talk about his asthma attack in the elevator just days ago, Stiles’ hand squeezed onto hers. She thanked him silently.

Since (y/n) had moved to Beacon Hills last year, her and Stiles had been close friends. They hadn’t even crossed paths until her name wound up on the Deadpool, and him and Scott had found her fighting for her life against Garrett and his twisted girlfriend. While (y/n) turned out to only be human, she had a family history of banshees, so she carried the gene.

“Any ideas? I’ll take anything at this point” Scott sighed, slumping down at the kitchen table. (y/n) felt bad for him in this moment, the alpha always tried to protect the entirety of Beacon Hills, and right now he was clearly feeling beat.

“The frequency” (y/n) said quietly, earning a very puzzled look from Scott. “It’s how they run… how they’re able to do the things they do with the electrical currents, like in Eichen” She explained. “I don’t know what they are, or how that works, but I think it’s how they communicate, how the overpower things”

“Yeah” Lydia nodded her head, understanding what she was saying. “If we can throw that off, we could maybe take that away from them” She thought allowed.

“Like kicking them when they’re down?” Malia asked, and the girls nodded back at her.

“That makes sense” Scott finally got it. “How do we throw off their frequency though?”

“Easy, overload it” Lydia said,

“Sound waves” (y/n) snapped her fingers, pointing to the banshee. “We use audio files of you…”

“… and then surround them with it…” Lydia finished (y/n’s) thought. “That could work!”

“You think?” The human girl smiled, glad that she’d helped with the plan.

“Lydia, Malia, you get the recordings” Scott said.

“Why me?” Malia whined.

“You’re the only one who can tolerate it” He answered, and she wanted to argue further, but it made too much sense. “Kira and I will figure out how to find them, I’ll call Liam tonight and ask him to come searching with us” Scott said, thinking through each aspect of the plan. “(y/n) and Stiles, you figure out how we switch up the frequency”

The two looked at each other, (y/n) pulling her hand out of Stiles’ as she smiled at him awkwardly.

“We’ll meet back here tomorrow, shoot for noon?”

Everyone nodded collectively in agreement.

“You want to get going then? Maybe we can get to a bookstore or something for research?” Stiles offered as the two headed for the door.

“What’re you eighty? Why can’t we just google?” (y/n) responded. Stiles shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah we could just go back to my place” He suggested. “You could stay the night, i-if you wanted. Then we could just meet up with the pack together and-”

“That sounds fine” She said, ending his rambling as they got into the jeep. “But could we stop at my house then to pick up some things?”

“Yeah-yeah of course” Stiles stammered out in response.

The trip to (y/n’s) didn’t last more than five minutes, filling her backpack with the necessities. Clothes to sleep in, and change into for tomorrow. Toothbrush, deodorant, phone charger. That was about it.

“So I was thinking we start with getting all the research printed then going through it and trying to track down where we can get the kind of speakers that can carry the intensity of a banshee scream” (y/n) was explaining her ideas to Stiles as soon as they walked into his bedroom.

“Sounds good”

“Also, we’ll look super prepared when we go to Scott’s” She added with a sheepish grin. Stiles chuckled at that.

“Good. Go A team!” Stiles said, holding his hand up for her to high five, but she shook her head.

“We aren’t celebrating over this” She said, stifling her giggles as she pushed past him to get to his computer.

“Fine. But we’re still A team” Stiles said, sprawling onto his bed to do his own research through his phone.

It must’ve been an hour of mumbles between the two, printing off sheet after sheet of papers that (y/n) felt would be necessary, until something in particular caught her eye.

“Hey… Stiles…” She called for him softly, unable to tear her eyes away from the laptop screen.

“Yeah?” He got up to walk over to her.

“There is a book” She told him, pointing to the screen. “On the Dread Doctors, by…” Her eyes scanned over the page. “T.R McCammon”

Stiles’ eyes squinted as he read over the page she’d pulled up. “Is it… reliable?”

“Only one way to find out, yeah?”

“You mean you want to go buy this?” He asked incredulously. “Didn’t I say we need to go to a bookstore?”

“Don’t be such a grandpa” She mumbled, the back of her hand slapping his arm. “I’ll print the pdf” She giggled at Stiles’ inability to process modern technology. She was already printing out a copy. “I could probably finish this tonight”

“Are you serious?” Stiles asked, looking over at all the sheets currently being stacked on his printer’s tray. “You’re paying me for that ink” He grumbled.

“Okay” She shrugged.

“I was kidding. And there’s no way you’re reading that all tonight” He said, wandering over the the sheets and flipping through them curiously. “They’re double sided!”

“I’m aware, Stiles. I’m saving paper” She rolled her eyes. The boy threw his hands in the air.

“(y/n/n), it’s already ten o’clock, you’re not going through the whole thing tonight. You’ll be up till the morning”

“I’m okay with that” She shrugged.

“(y/n)-”

“People are getting hurt, Stiles” She said seriously, looking away from the computer and back up at him now. “I can handle staying up past my bedtime” She said, then got up from the chair to go collect her twenty-some pages. Stiles sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it.

(y/n) took her spot on the bed, getting comfortable with a pen in one hand for notes and a highlighter between her lips just in case.

“Are you gonna sit with me and keep me company?” She asked Stiles after a few minutes of being by herself.

Stiles had just been standing there, trying not to stare at her, but it was getting kind of hard nowadays. The boy nodded, propping himself up next to her on the mattress.

“You just want me here to ask me questions on big words” He said with a goofy grin that earned him a smile.

“Maybe” She responded softly.

And she did ask hima few things, as well as run a few ideas by him as she scribbled down notes and highlighted certain areas. She was taking it very seriously, each page taking her longer to read through than the last. Until eventually it didn’t matter that Stiles kept his eyes trained on her breathtaking features, because she was so captured by the words.

Stiles fell asleep by midnight, and she wasn’t even half way through it by that point. Not that (y/n) minded, his head had fallen onto her shoulder and his soft snores were something that made her chest flutter with adoration.

But that was when things got difficult.

The reading was getting intense, and the further she went, the easier the picture in her mind became, until it was so realistic that she just couldn’t stop. Because she was certain that at any moment the Doctors were going to come to get her, after her own mutated genes. The image was crystal clear. (y/n) was practically trapped by the book.

She didn’t even know she was shaking until Stiles began to stir and woke up because of it.

“(y/n)?” He mumbled, clearly confused. “How long was I- O my God you’re crying” He sat up straight as soon as he’d noticed, but she didn’t say or do anything, just kept on reading as she trembled and tears fell down her cheeks. “(y/n), hey, seriously stop reading now”

She barely even showed a sign of life if it weren’t for her tears.

“I’m serious (y/n), stop reading”

A small gasp escaped her lips, but it was only as a result of her crying. Stiles began to shake her shoulders, snapping his fingers in front of her face, anything to direct her attention elsewhere, but it wasn’t working.

Finally, he gave up and called the one person he figured would be good with this sort of thing. They picked up after a couple rings, sounding only slightly annoyed from being called at one in the morning.

“Hey, you okay?” Lydia’s voice asked, wondering why the hell Stiles would be calling at this hour. “What’s going on?”

“It’s (y/n)” He answered quickly, sounding panicked. “She won’t stop crying, and I don’t know what to do!”

“Oh my God… what’d you do to the poor girl?” The banshee sighed.

“Nothing! She was just reading this book thing about the Dread Doctors and just- I don’t really know I fell asleep-”

“Typical of you to leave all the work to her”

“Not now” He muttered. “But she’s shaking and crying and it’s like, it’s like she’s in a trance and I don’t know how to help her just tell me how to help her”

“Well maybe start by taking away the book” Lydia stated calmly. Stiles did so, reaching out and practically ripping the pages from her hands. The girl’s eyes looked up to his, still wet with tears and there were trails on her cheeks. Her breathing quickened, but she still didn’t say anything.

“Okay I think that worked” Stiles near whispered into the phone.

“Good, now… maybe treat it like a panic attack?”

“How the hell do I do that?” The boy whisper screamed.

“I don’t know! You’ve had them before, you figure it out!” Lydia replied defensively.

“Fine, I’ll figure it out on my own” Stiles answered, before hanging up on her and tossing her phone to the side. “(y/n), hey, can you hear me?”

He got onto the bed in front of her, sitting on his knees as she stared at him. Her head shakily nodded.

“I-” She took in a sharp breath. “I feel like I-I can see them” Her voice came out in whimpers and Stiles’ heart broke right into two.

“There’s nothing here, it’s just me” He assured her, reaching his hands out to set on her shoulders.

“But I-I just f-feel them, like they’re everywhere” The tear flow continued on and Stiles was about ready to burn that pdf printout.

“Nothing is here” Stiles whispered. “I need you to breathe”

“I can’t I-”

“(y/n)” Stiles spoke sternly. “Breathe, in and out”

“Stiles I can’t-” She panted again, shutting her eyes in an effort to at least stop the crying. “I can’t do this I- I can’t help them not like this-”

“Don’t think about that right now” He said softly, realizing his hands had been caressing over her arms involuntarily to try to soothe her. He wasn’t all too sure if it was working, but he didn’t stop. “Think about something else”

“How am I-”

“Just try” He pleaded. “Try for me, find something else to focus on”

(y/n’s) eyes opened, red and sad and flickering between his.

“It-it’s n-not working” She sniffled, voice hiccuping.

Stiles gaze wandered from her tear filled (y/e/c) eyes down to her trembling pink lips. Quickly snapping his line of sight back to his eyes, he wondered if his last ditch effort idea was even a good one. But we know what they say about desperate times.

His hands released her arms to gently cup her face, and without a second thought he tugged the girl closer to him, slanting his lips over hers. (y/n) squeaked with surprise, but didn’t try to push him away whatsoever, so it must’ve worked on some level. He let his thumbs swipe tenderly over her cheeks to get rid of the wetness. After he felt her let out a soft and steady sigh through her nose, he pulled away from her, removing his hands from her face and looking at her worriedly.

“How’d you know that’d work?” She whispered, no longer sounding panicked, but he could tell that she was still scared on some level.

“I… didn’t” He responded, chuckling nervously and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry”

“It’s okay” She responded maybe too quickly. “Thank you, I mean” (y/n) spoke almost under her breath, even though he was sitting just inches in front of her. “That was… um… terrifying”

“I’m just glad it’s over. It was terrifying to watch” He said, getting up off the bed, and placing the stack of papers she’d been going through clear on the other side of the room on his desk. “We’ll worry about that all tomorrow, you need sleep” He told her. (y/n) nodded in agreement.

If she was being honest with herself, she could still feel his velvety chapped lips on hers.

Stiles began to head for the door, shutting off the lights, and (y/n) stiffened instantaneously.

“Wait- Stiles” She called, sitting up straighter on his bed. He turned back to her, silently asking what she needed. “Can you… will you stay up here? Tonight?” She spoke slowly. “Not on the couch?”

He smiled gently at her, closing the door and heading back to the bed.

“Thanks” (y/n) mumbled as they laid down across from one another, her eyes staring at him with a soft sort of intensity.

“Mhm o’course” He mumbled sleepily, pulling the covers over the both of them. His eyes were shut as his head hit the pillow, but (y/n) was still looking at him.

“Stiles?” She murmured, like a frightened child.

“Mm?” He hummed, his eyes flickering open to see her unsurely watching him.

“Can I come closer?” His lips tugged gently, and without a word he opened his arms up for her.

She’d spent the night in the same bed with the boy before, many times actually. After Lydia’s parties, late night pack meetings like to night, for movie marathons. She’d grown accustomed to having him sleeping by her side, but cuddling was a new concept.

Without hesitation, she moved forward and tucked herself underneath his strong arm, pressing her hands to his check and her face against his collarbone. Stiles held onto her securely, just enough to remind of her safety, but she could still breathe in his sweet scent of cologne.

“Thank you” She whispered. He rubbed her back gently in response.

“Mhm” He hummed again. “Get some sleep��

“Goodnight” She yawned, eyes fluttering shut as she pursed her nose into the crook of his neck. “I love you” She purred without much of thought of all, meanwhile making Stiles’ heart nearly burst out of his chest.

“Love you too pretty girl” Stiles said carefully. He could feel her lips pulling into a small smile against his skin, but no more words were shared between the two.

But more words than those they’d let so tiredly slip out were needed.

prompt list

taglist: @the-crime-fighting-spider @socially-awkward-nerd @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @lovelynerdytraveler @writings-and-stuff @black-tights-black-heart @catcrown21 @anabundanceoftrash @dylxnob

xoxo ~ jordie

#teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf scenario #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski scenario #stiles stilinski fanfiction #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien fanfiction #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien scenario #jordie'sprompts

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etherealrj · 7 years

Text

running on ice - reddie

pairings : reddie

warnings : jealously ?

masterlist

requests are closed

a/n sorry this took so long, I have so many request right now and i'm like mentally sinking under pressure. I hope this is okay anon!

Eddie always came along to Richie’s shows. It was a tradition, even both they started dating. Eddie would face his fear of the germs to come and listen to his boyfriends loudly obnoxious band play covers of songs he’s never heard, in favour of watching Richie get hot and sweaty as he periodically exhorted his energy banging on his drums.

Richie on the other hand would come to the pep rally every Friday night to support Eddie’s appearance, regardless of his hatred for most of human kind nothing could rival seeing your boyfriend in tight pastel pink booty shorts.

Eddie usually sat backstage at Richie’s shows, this was usually due to Richie not wanting Eddie to panic and cause an asthma attack from stressing over anybody out on the floor.

But today was different.

Eddie claimed that sitting behind the curtains just wasn’t good enough for tonight, therefore he just had to stand dead centre stage to watch his lover perform. Richie was hesitant because he didn’t want to see the fragile boy get hurt. He knew how rough the floor could get scattered with intoxicated youths and Richie knew it was no place for a five foot four, skinny, pale, flower crown wearing teenage boy. But Eddie had insisted that, that there wasn't any other place he going to be regardless of Richie’s protests.

Richie had placed himself behind the drums, twirling the drum sticks that loosely rest in his hands. As he scanned he crowd, it was a pretty good turn out tonight. A small non-existent smile made it's way onto his lips at the idea of people actually appreciating him for his talents, a wave of relief fled through his body, maybe he could actually get somewhere in life. Soon the idea of the masses of people seemed to have changed his opinion.

He scanned the crowd looking for Eddie's figure, even if he wasn't dating him, the poor boy he stuck out like a saw thumb among the copious amount of dark clothes that stood on the floor, covering the space with an aura the Richie was all too comfortable with.

Blinking behind his glasses, he narrowed his gaze slightly to this side of the stage where he found Eddie standing leaning slightly against a tall bar table. Richie noted that Eddie had found someone to talk to, and that in itself made Richie smile. Knowing that Eddie was comfortable in one of the only other places Richie was. Richie must have been staring at the pale boy for a bit longer than he thought because the only thing that broke him from his gaze was the fact it was getting harder and harder to see him. The stage lights had begun to dim and the loud strum of the bass guitar echoed the dark room.

Richie straightened his back and placed his drum sticks in their selected hands, starring out at the audience and seeing only the faint outlines of human bodies.

The coloured stage lights were suddenly turned on, and Richie heard the loud cheer from their small crowd. He heard their lead singer speak into the microphone probably asking the basic and stereotypical 'hey, how's everyone was doing tonight,' but Richie paid little no attention as he looked back over at the space Eddie was currently occupying.

His mouth dropping a gape as he watched the boy laugh at something the delinquent had said. Richie whole opinion on the other male had changed as fast as a drop of a pin.

Eddie's back was turned to the stage and his full attention was focused on a complete and utter stranger. He faintly heard the beginning of song start and he subconsciously hit drums the way he had been practicing for the past weeks but his gaze still pierced the back of Eddie's head wondering what was just so interesting that he couldn't even face the direction of his actual boyfriend and pretend like he was enjoying the music even though Richie knew otherwise.

Richie narrowed his eyes as he watched a hand creep up the sleeve of Eddie's jacket. Eddie obviously didn't feel the need to brush him away. One of the only faults that Eddie Kaspbrak will ever exhibit is the inability to be able to recognise that literally everyone wanted a piece of him. Richie wasn't even going to hide the fact he was jealous. He gave that up long ago.

Eddie was his, and only his. It wasn't that he didn't trust Eddie, he just didn't trust anyone else around him. The boy was small, cute and docile, meaning he would be just as easy a target as it would be to steal a puppy from a shelter. Eddie trusted everyone, and Richie was the complete opposite.

The band played a few more songs before they were able to take a break. As soon as the stage lights turned off and the floor was lit, Richie rushed down onto the hard concrete despite the protest from his lead singer about their need to recuperate behind stage.

Richie's long limbs were seen jumping from the side stage and striding five short steps in Eddie' direction. Once arriving the older boy sat his head onto of the younger and his arm sliding around Eddie's waist. Eddie flinched away from his touch and Richie tried not to let his disappointment show. Glancing to the right he saw the denim jacket wearing loser that was trying to steal his boyfriend, sipping on a drink that was clearing not cherry cola. He glared at the side of the strangers face as he brought the glass cup to his lips.

Eddie turned his head to meet the hard face of Richie Tozier. Body immediately relaxing under his touch. "Hey babe." Eddie said, a comical expression plastered itself on his face as he observed Richie's stoic look. Turning slightly to kiss the taller boys cheek. Richie tore his glare from the other the boy and focused his gaze on Eddie. "It's been a good show so far." Richie scoffed.

"Yeah, like you would fucking know." Richie said, sound muffled by Eddie's dark brown curls. "Watcha doing with this guy." He gestured across the table to where the guy now stood starring across at the pair.

The unknown guy reached his arm across the table holding out his hand. "Hi I'm-" "I wasn't talking to you." Eddie pushed back against Richie's chest and moved from out of the taller boys grasp.

"Richie that wasn't very nice." Eddie's eye widened in surprise at the blatant bluntness coming out of Richie's mouth.

Richie's eyes widen, "Can you not see that he's trying to get with you!" Richie gestured wildly, sending his long limbs flying about. Eddie sighed, and turned back to the mysterious man informing him that the pair will be right back. Eddie gripped onto the side of Richie's leather jacket, pulling him through the masses of people toward backstage.

As they past the heavy black curtains, Eddie let go of Richie's sleeve and turned to face him. "What's up with you?" He asked, curiosity shown in his eyes. His eyes travelled over Richie's sweat cladded face, dark curls clung to his forehead, his face was flush with a light shade of pink making the freckles that Eddie loved disappear for an apparent amount of time.

Richie kicked the tip of his shoe against the concrete, reluctantly looking into Eddie's eyes. "Nothing, Eddie Spaghetti." Richie beamed a smile toward the boy. Eddie quirked an eyebrow at Richie's all too wide smile. Eddie placed his hand son his own hips and gave Richie an expected stare. Richie rolled his eyes and dropped the smile off his face. "I don't like you talking to that guy."

"Rich, you can't get angry every time I talk to other guys,"

"Eddie! He was touching you! I was watching the whole time, you didn't ever turn to face the stage once!" Richie sighed. "I love you too much to just sit back and watch. I don't want to lose you to som-some denim jacket tattoo covered freak!" Eddie's lip twitched into a side smile, as he reached out and took a hold of Richie's hand.

"You are the only denim jacket tattoo covered freak for me baby, I promise." Eddie stood upon the tips of his toes, to press a chaste kiss upon Richie's lips. Richie faintly heard someone callout for him, informing him he's got two minutes until they go back on stage. With an annoyed grunt, Richie pulled Eddie into his embraced, wrapping his arms around the smaller boys shoulders tightly. Richie felt Eddie hug back just as tight, while wrapping his own arms around Richie's middle section. Muffled by Richie's jacket he faintly heard Eddie's teasing tone say,

“There’s no need to be jealous, Rich.” Richie scoffed and pulled away began walking in the opposite direction, shouting in response.

“Shut it Ed’s.” Richie walked away with a genuine smile on his which made a few of his bands members send him questioning looks which he all dismissed with shake of his head.

As the stage lights turned back on, Richie glanced through his fingerprint cladded glasses to see Eddie's bright smile staring right back at him from centre stage.

Richie couldn't be happier.

fic requests and headcannon requests are closed

moodboard requests are open

a/n I currently have 25 requests sitting in my ask box and I want to get around to all of them so pls no more fic requests until i'm finished them all lmao. moodboard requests are open tho bc I'm using them to distract myself from writing. i am working 6, 8 hour shifts this week so I'm really busy with work but I'm trying lmao

if you wanna be in the reddie taglist lemme know!

taglist : @colinmorgay @its-ya-girl-mercy @tastes-like-cherry-coke @netzoflix @bitch-its-youknowwho @prkrptr @ladycataztrophe @whoisjjacob @eddies-inhaler @stenbroughh @eddierichietozier @scienceyyy @randvmfandoms @loserichie @puddlewing @letgoofmygreggo

ive forgotten like 5 ppl I'm sorry ^

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sickdaysofficial · 7 years

Text

Sick Days 4.0 Day #4: Hiding It

Characters: Bella and Nora (OCs) Warnings: none POV: Third Person Word Count: 2455

Just 2,000 more words. That’s all she needed. 2,000 more words and her final paper for Accelerated Women’s Literature would be complete. If only the words would stop moving on the screen. Or if only her bones would stop aching. Or if only it was not so damn cold in her bedroom.

Bella adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, suppressing a shiver as she frantically typed on her keyboard. The little clock on the corner of her laptop read 1:53AM. She had been working on this paper ever since she came home at 9:00PM after closing the coffee shop for the night. It was due the next day, and somehow she had completely forgotten about it.

The past week had been stressful. She had taken on five classes this semester as well as juggling full-time work. Between early mornings and late nights at the coffee shop, and hours upon hours of reading and writing and studying, she was burnt out. Now, finals week was upon them. She had three papers to write, one project, and four exams. Luckily, everything was mostly done as a result of little to no sleep. Bella could not even remember the last time she went to bed before 4:00AM, and most days she was awake by 6:00AM.

Everything was mostly completed by now, except for this stupid paper. Bella stared at the screen, trying to make the words stop floating away. She was absolutely exhausted. Her eyelids kept trying to droop closed, but she forced them open each time. Her body felt like it had been run over by a truck, and then the truck reversed and backed over her again.

If she was not mistaken, she would think she was getting sick. But that was impossible, because she never got sick. As a result of living with three older brothers, her immune system was strong and capable of handling anything. She was confident her symptoms were from nothing more than exhaustion, and after class tomorrow, she could sleep for twenty-four hours straight and everything would be fine.

There was a faint knock at her door, and she turned in her chair to see Nora peek in.

“Bella? It’s 2AM, you should be asleep,” Nora said, her voice thick with sleep.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Bella apologized, wincing at how rough her voice sounded.

Nora shook her head. “You didn’t. I had to pee. Don’t you have to wake up in a few hours?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bella turned back to her paper. “Go back to bed.”

“Bella…” Nora walked in and put her hand on Bella’s shoulder. “You have barely been sleeping all week. You need to rest.”

Bella waved her off. “I need to finish this paper and then I’ll go to bed.”

“Bella…”

“I’m fine!” Bella did not mean to raise her voice, and she lowered it to a whisper. “I’m sorry. I just really need to finish this. It’s due tomorrow and I completely spaced it.”

“Just please try and get some rest,” Nora squeezed her shoulder before leaving the room.

Bella sighed, holding her head in her hands once Nora was gone.

She would rest after graduation.

Bella finally finished the essay at 4:07AM. Without even bothering to edit it, she printed it out and tossed it into her book bag before collapsing into bed. Within minutes, she was asleep, but it did not last long.

Her alarm blared at 6:00AM and she groaned. She reached over and turned it off before rolling over onto her back.

That’s when it hit her.

She felt miserable.

Her sinuses were pounding, her nose was blocked, her throat was sore, and the aches and pains were increased tenfold.

I think I’m dying, she thought, rubbing her hands over her face.

Chills shook her frame as she crawled out of bed, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she made her way into the bathroom her and Nora shared.

Nora would not be awake for another hour, which gave her time to be miserable in peace.

Bella turned on the hot water, filling the room with steam. She tried to breathe it in, but it just made her sputter and cough as she placed a hand on her chest. The coughs rattled her lungs and she tried to gulp in air, but it was hard. It felt like her lungs were closing in, and for a moment, she thought she was going to have to grab her inhaler. But finally, they opened back up and she was able to breathe again.

Her asthma never proved to be an issue except when she was sick. Except she was not sick right now. Nope, she was fine. Just fine.

Bella chose to drive the short distance to the college today. She honestly did not think she would have made it if she walked, and would have ended up collapsed in a ditch somewhere, and so far during the eight-minute drive, she had counted ten increasingly desperate sneezes. Each one tore up her throat and did nothing to alleviate the pressure in her sinuses. Worse, she had no tissues and had to resort to stifling and wiping with the sleeve of her jacket. It was disgusting.

She finally made it to campus just as another sneezing fit had her breath hitching.

“Hih… hih… h’etchu! Hi..e’sch! Hih-tchh!”

Bella sniffled thickly, just barely moving the congestion in her nasal passageways. She leaned her head against the headrest, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. It didn’t help.

Grabbing her bag, she got out of the car and was met with the cold, damp air. The walk to the classroom was about fifteen minutes, and she found herself wheezing on the way there. She had not wheezed for years.

That’s weird, she thought as she struggled to pull air into her lungs. A coughing fit took over halfway to class and she had to stop as she doubled over from the hacking. Her wheezing grew more prominent, and for a second, she almost started to panic.

Relax, Bella, you’re fine. Slow, even breathes…

She took a couple slow breathes through her mouth, since her nose was useless at the moment. She ignored how they made her lungs crackle, and instead focused on getting the wheezing under control. It was still there, but not as loud.

The walk took twice as long as it should have, but she slid into a chair just as the professor walked in. After this lecture, she was home free.

Nora quickly silenced her phone without looking at the screen as if began to vibrate during her Marketing class. Even on vibrate, it was still loud as it shook in her bag. But not even a minute later, it was vibrating again. She chanced to peek when the professor was not looking, and noticed Bella’s face in the caller ID.

She glanced at her watch; it was only 8:34AM, and Bella’s class did not end until 10. Something wasn’t right.

She remembered walking into Bella’s room last night, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, her complexion that was much too pale for her normally tanned skin. The way she snapped when Nora suggested she go to bed, and how stressed out she had been the last week.

Without thinking, Nora grabbed her bag and left. She ignored the inquisitive looks from the other students and the glare the professor gave her as she left. This was important.

She picked up when Bella called her the third time.

“What’s wrong?” She quickly asked.

“Nora…” Bella’s voice sounded on the other end, but it sounded forced and rough.

“Bella, are you okay?”

“I… I c-can’t…” Nora could hear her wheezing through the phone, and her heart jumped into her chest. She knew Bella had asthma. She had seen the inhaler in the bathroom cabinet when they first moved in together. She had grilled her on the topic, wanting to know why she had it. Bella had told her she had not needed it for years, but kept it just in case.

“Bella, please tell me you have your inhaler with you.”

There was silence except for the audible wheezing. Then there was coughing, the deep, chesty hacking that made Nora wince. This was not good.

“N-No…” Bella rasped. “Nora… I can’t…. breathe.”

Nora knew where Bella’s Women’s Literature class was. She immediately turned and started walking in that direction, keeping Bella on the phone.

“Just stay on the phone, okay? I’m on my way.”

She didn’t need Bella to talk, she just needed to hear that she was still breathing.

She found Bella sitting outside the classroom, her back pressed against the wall and her knees pulled to her chest. Her head was resting on top of her knees, and her whole body was shaking.

Nora knelt down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Bella?”

Slowly, Bella lifted her head. She had tear marks streaming down her face, but no new tears were flowing. Her eyes were red and puffy and stood out against her stark white face. Her mouth was slightly open as she struggled to pull air in and wheezing with each breath.

“Okay,” Nora said, contemplating their options. Bella needs to go to the clinic. They should have inhalers or something to help. “Okay, this is what we are going to do.”

Bella watched her as Nora stood back up. But then her nose crinkled up and her already wheezy breath started to hitch.

“Heh… hi-heh… h’ketchu!” Bella ducked her head into her elbow. “Snnnff…”

“Oh, darling…” Nora shook her head. “We are going to the clinic. Can you stand?”

Bella nodded and pushed up from the floor, but she nearly crumpled back down before Nora caught her. Even through her shirt, Nora could feel how warm she was. Once Bella was standing, she pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead, and was greeted with a burning heat she had been expecting.

Bella was sick, and possibly on her way to having an asthma attack.

Bella leaned heavily on Nora the entire way to the campus clinic. Her entire focus was getting air into her lungs, a task that was becoming increasingly difficult. She felt so winded and out of breath, and no matter how many breaths she took, it was never enough. Her chest hurt and her head was pounding and every time she sneezed or coughed, it felt like someone was running knives down her throat.

Nora whispered encouraging words to her as Bella did her best to put one foot in front of the other. Finally, after what felt like hours, they made it into the clinic.

“We need help! She has asthma,” Nora told the front desk as soon as she settled Bella into a chair. “She doesn’t have her inhaler, and she has a fever!”

Minutes later, a volunteer and a nurse were beside her and taking her into a room. The nurse put a cold stethoscope to her chest and she shivered at the contact. After listening to a couple different spots on her chest and back, the nurse shook her head and removed the stethoscope.

“Go grab one of the spare inhalers,” she instructed the volunteer before grabbing a thermometer out of her pocket. She slipped on a probe cover and slipped it under Bella’s tongue.

A full minute later, it beeped and the nurse retracted it.

“102.1,” she said, giving Bella a sympathetic look. “You are one sick puppy, my dear.” Bella was barely paying any attention. The room had begun to spin, and she was still wheezing as they waited for the volunteer to return.

“Can I… can I lay down?” She asked, feeling as if she would pass out right there.

The nurse helped her lay back against the vinyl bench in the exam room, and Bella closed her eyes as she listened to her own breathing.

Where is Nora?

She noticed her friend had not followed them into the room. Pushing herself up a little bit, she looked around.

“What’s wrong, hun?” The nurse asked.

“Where is…” she had a pause to wheeze, coughing as her lungs rattled. “my friend?”

“She’s in the waiting room. Would you like me to go get her?”

Bella nodded, leaning back against the bench.

The nurse retuned with Nora the same time the volunteer returned with the inhaler. Nora kept a hand on Bella’s back to keep her upright as the nurse helped her push down the plunger. The medicine flowed into her lungs and opened up her airway. It was followed by a second puff that opened everything up even more, and when the nurse pulled the inhaler away from her lips, Bella let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank you…” she breathed.

“We will keep you here for a little while longer to keep an eye on you, and then you can go.” The nurse told her before pulling the curtain and leaving the room with the volunteer on her heels.

Bella laid back down and took deep breathes, pulling them in and out through her mouth. She still felt horrible, but as least now she could breathe.

“Bella?”

She turned to look at Nora, who had been holding her hand.

When did that happen? she thought, looking at their interlaced fingers.

“Hmm?” She replied after noticing Nora was waiting for a response.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling good?”

Bella turned her head to cough, trying to clear her throat and make her voice less raspy. It didn’t help. “I thought I was fine.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Obviously not.”

“I know,” Bella croaked. She tried to sit up and Nora helped her. “I thought I was just tired.”

“Well, look where not sleeping has landed you,” Nora said, gesturing to the tiny exam room. “You really need to take care of yourself.”

“I know…”

“You scared the hell out of me, Bella.”

Bella winced, almost as if Nora’s words had physically hurt her. “I’m sorry, I really am. I should keep my inhaler with me. It’s just that I haven’t needed it for so long.”

“Not just that,” Nora gave her hand a squeeze. “You need to sleep. You need to eat. All this stress isn’t good for you.”

Bella stared at her shoes, not meeting Nora’s eyes.

“As soon as they let you go, I’m taking you straight home. And I am going to go and buy you tissues and medicine and we will just cuddle on the couch and watch the Little Mermaid. And you are going to sleep. Okay?”

Bella smiled and gave Nora a sheepish look. “Promise?”

Nora returned her smile. “Promise.”

#fever #sneezing #dizziness #congestion #coughing #asthma #asthma attack tw #january 31 2018 #sickdays 4.0 #submission

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