#there are more my brain is just a jumble of pain meds right now

[cevans-is-classic]

yes YES dump all of ur steve and/or tony headcanons on me

Oh buddy! Okay first off — Steve is a simp.

Hands down.

He WORSHIPS Tony and its delicious

Also my wifee and I have this Steve Rogers headcanon where he LOVES popsongs (or just modern music) so we call him Captain Popstar.

We have BLURBS for this baby. In our minds he has a tiktok and does the dances 👌

Tony is incapable of not spilling anything liquid. It doesn't matter what it is. If it's in his hand and it sloshes it's gonna spill so if he's working on something BIG that involves sloshy stuff Steve IS NOT allowed near him.

Period.

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

Yet another “I'm more non-speaking/nonverbal than I thought” post.

Hi. This is Nico. Our body is autistic. When I first found that out I thought we were “high functioning”, because we weren't as disabled as others seemed to be. But we were just very high masking at the time, & the mask is peeling off in painful layers.

I perfected my ability to write from 5 years old till now (we're 23), in part because speaking aloud is difficult. (But I thought everyone struggled to speak words & that I just....wasn't dealing with it well.) Because of that, this will be written in much better grammar & clearer words than I am capable of aloud right now. That does not mean I can speak aloud, nor that autistics who can't write like this don't exist or aren't super valid. That also doesn't mean I won't use wrong words sometimes, because I do still mix up words or have an inability to find the word I mean.

That disclaimer aside....

I thought I was hyperverbal. Because we also have ADHD & C-PTSD, the tism didn't seem to affect our speaking much.

The hyperverbal speech was part autism mask, part ADHD hyperactivity (or, externalized symptoms to be more accurate), & part PTSD (got abused & punished for not speaking).

I am currently medicating my ADHD with a balance of sugar & caffeine that works short-term. (I will eventually seek actual meds but there's a shortage right now & I am a tired bitch who doesn't wanna deal with doctors right now.)

I was trying to sing along to my music playlist. That's typically one of my most reliable self-soothing tactics. Even as we've started unmasking the tism, I didn't notice much difference in my singing—as long as I'm singing with backup music, I can still sing when words otherwise don't wanna work/translate/etc.

It came out in soft babbles, “bah bah bah” (lip taps with air), “bleh bleh bleh” (basically just tongue taps with air), & faint humming. I could follow the general beat/tune of the song, but couldn't make any of the lyrics come out.

This followed a session of flirting with my autistic girlfriend, & her making me laugh nonstop for a solid 20mins, until my brain decided “I'm safe right now” & words failed me. My mouth wouldn't do it.

I can still make noise in my head. Some of my thoughts are words (in a jumbled mix of the languages I know (Spanish & French, & bits n pieces of Norwegian/German/Italian/Irish Gaelic/Russian/Greek)). But most are pictures, feelings, vague concepts that I couldn't translate if I tried. None of the thoughts, even the ones that are words, will come out of my mouth. I can't make them come out.

That said, after around 20mins of incoherent noise I was able to sing along again not by understanding the meaning of the words or by saying the words, but by mimicking just the sounds. Ignore that it's a word, let the meaning float in nonexistence, & I can repeat the sound. But I don't know what the fuck I'm saying when I do that, because I can't think the meaning or process the words at the same time as I mimic it.

And that's the same reason that I sing almost exactly the same notes, accent, tone, etc. when I sing, 99% of the time. I'm just mimicking—I'm not actively singing. In order to actually sing, I have to wait for my brain to have enough processing power to spare to not mask, not mimic, process the words, process everything around me (lights, sounds, etc.), associate the words with something or someone, preferably a memory (usually it's my girlfriend who comes to mind right now, but sometimes it's family or friends), AND still make the words come out like they actually mean something. And that takes...so much out of me.

I can't make meaningful words happen right now. Just meaning-detached sounds.

So...yeah.

I thought I had no problems with speech. I thought words were just “a little difficult sometimes”. But I can only word so much in a day before I run out now, & I mean hard stop, ‘can't even mask to save my life’, can't talk to my loved ones, ✨run out✨. My girlfriend pointed out I'm unable to word speech more often than I'm able to now, & suggested I might be more non-speaking than I realized. Because I can usually word inside my head, for most of a day (especially if I take a nap), but I cannot word aloud for more than 2 or 3 hours if I'm not masking, & my mask starts glitching & breaking (stutters, wrong scripts, etc.) after about 5 hours at work now.

So I was never high functioning. I was destroying my brain to mask, & now I'm so burnt out & destroyed from what I did mask through that I can't even mask most of the time. I am now “high support needs” (incorrectly dubbed “low functioning”) autistic, because of how masking destroyed me.

Once I graduate college with a degree that lets me get a job where I can be myself (preferably my own boss), I will never be masking ever again. I can't. It's so taxing.

Speaking isn't supposed to be hard. It's also not supposed to be an act of mimicry 24/7 (sometimes it is mimicry, but not this much). And this is news to me, and I am devastated for child me who thought he was just not trying hard enough or was broken or was just missing a tool.

He was always disabled. We were always disabled. I will honour that disability now, to the best of my ability. Because I love him, because we're worth it, because I shouldn't have to pretend to be neurotypical & able-bodied when I'm not, because that little kid deserved better.

I will learn other ways to communicate. I will learn other languages, but also non-word ways. I don't always have to speak.

And that's okay. I'm allowed to be disabled.

So into the future we grow.

~Nico

[nicolewoo]

Cub Part 10

Part 10 the Turn

Synopsis: Roman, Seth and Dean are a pack of werewolfs. Protecting their city from the scumbags of the world ends up with a surprise when a victim left for dead imprints on Roman Reigns.

The plan had been gone over more times than I wanted to count. Being between a human and a wolf, we weren’t sure how long the anesthetic would last. Dean had told me that he was the anesthesiologist who worked on all the werewolves in Alaska. Usually, the anesthetic would burn off of a wolf in a matter of 5 minutes. He’d gone on to explain how he consistently added meds to keep a wolf asleep.

Unfortunately, since I was neither human or wolf yet, we weren’t sure how fast my body would burn the drugs off. The night I’d been stabbed, I was more human than wolf, and the anesthetic worked well, but now, closer to a wolf than a human… the medical team was apprehensive, and I was too.

Now, just minutes from my first turn, I was so scared I thought I’d vomit. I’d stood on the porch and prayed with the tribe before going inside to prepare.

Shay helped me change into a hospital gown. The easy to open snaps would ensure the clothing popped off me as I changed. Coming out of the bathroom, I saw the concerned look on my pack’s faces. They tried to hide it, but it was too late; I’d already seen it.

Taking a deep breath, I laid on Roman’s bed, arm out for Dean to stick. “Ok, Cub, are you ready?” Dean asked.

I looked up into his crystal blue eyes, “Do I have a choice?”

Dean smiled warmly at me. “I’ve got this, Cub. I promise.” A hint of fear shone through his eyes.

I reached out and grabbed his hand, “I trust you Dean.”

He kissed my forehead. “Love you, Cub” He whispered to me.

“I love you too,” I answered.

Seth approached me as Dean and Shay prepared the sedatives. “Cub, you’re one bad ass! You can handle this. I’m gonna be right beside you through the whole thing.” He kissed my forehead.

“Thanks Sethie poo,” I answered and Shay chuckled.

Roman was next, laying on the bed next to me and taking me in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

I turned to look at him. “Baby, if you’d given me the choice, I would choose this. I would choose to be with you and my pack, and my tribe. I love you!”

A tear played at the corner of his eye, but never fell. “I love you too, Cub.” He pulled me closer.

“Two minutes until moonrise,” Seth announced.

I inhaled sharply, “Ok. Let’s do this,” I said. My packmates looked at each other, communicating something through their link…. A link I would be joining in just minutes.

“I love you.” Roman whispered as Dean put the anesthetic in the IV, and the world began to fall away.”

“Count backwards from 10.” Dean said, and although I tried hard, I couldn’t get past 8.

 Pain seared through me, ripping me from my peaceful slumber. I thought I was going to die from it. My brain jumbled and I thought I’d just been stabbed. Yes. Stabbed. I was dying.

The pain eased for a second, and I gathered my wits. Not the stabbing. I had lived through the stabbing. No. What was this?

Almost as painful as the physical pain was the explosion in my head. Something was very wrong. I had to be dying. “CLOUDS” repeated over and over in my head. “…”Sustain and restore me. Loving Father, touch me now with Your healing hands…” Was that chanting? No. it was Prayer.

The pain burned through me again; driving my thoughts away. The chanting continued. Not chanting, prayers.

My mate’s muzzle rubbed against mine, and I heard whimpering…. Was that coming from me? “You can do this. Just a few minutes.” I heard in my head. “CLOUDS”…. Prayers….

Dean… he was supposed to give me pain meds if I needed them. I needed them now, but how would I tell him?

A pillow of soft tingling overtook me. He’d known. I hadn’t had to say anything. Dean already knew. As the relief flooded through me, my pack relaxed. I felt a general easing of tension all around me, and Dean ran his human hand over my neck.

Now though, as I breathed a sigh of relief, I was completely overwhelmed by everything. Every sound in the forest seemed to be right next to my ear. Not only could I hear Dean and Shay whispering about my meds, I could hear a squirrel running across trees somewhere deep in the forest and a woodpecker pecked at a tree miles away. The wind rattling the leaves of all the trees sounded like an audience clapping. The prayers of the well-intentioned tribe members were so loud, I thought the cadence would drive me nuts.

My skin seemed to come alive. From the feel of the soft hospital gown and the sleeping bag over me to the feel of the wind moving the fur on my ears, it was overwhelming.  

The smells too…. Too much. I could smell the trees, the rotting leaves, the wind, animals, my pack. MY MATE!!! I turned my snout closer to him and inhaled again. His heavenly scent enveloped me like a fur coat, soaking into my skin and changing my very being.

But the biggest change was my mind. Open now to my pack, more open to my mate….. I could hear words. Someone was still saying “CLOUDS” over and over. WTF?

I grumbled at the throbbing in my head that didn’t seem to improve when Dean gave me the pain meds. “Can we….” The pain interrupted me. “Can we pray quieter?” I begged my mate. “Can everything get quieter? And darker… and….”

Through our link, Roman comforted me. “You’ll adjust soon, Cub. You’re going to be ok.” Roman turned to his father, and the prayers subdued to a whisper. Roman turned back to me and placed his muzzle over my eyes, blocking out the light of the moon.

“Who the hell is saying Clouds?” I thought.

Seth snickered, “Sorry Cub. Just trying to keep my mind blank.” Oh! That was Seth? There was a feel to him…. An aura …. Acceptance, excitement, care. A brother.  I searched for Dean’s mind but couldn’t find it yet.

As Roman had said, my mind slowly began to adapt to the increased senses. As I calmed, Roman picked his muzzle up slowly, allowing my eyes to adjust to the light. Once I had adjusted, he began rubbing his muzzle against mine; like the dream I’d had. As in my dream, the motion was sweet and gentle. It was more than the feel of his fur against mine. He was inside me. I could feel his presence deep in my soul like a calming balm.

Love… love was the strongest feeling, but there was joy, happiness, contentment……. My mate accepted me totally, completely. He loved me. I’d never felt such welcomeness. I’d never felt so whole.

A strong breeze rattled the leaves in the trees before blowing over my face. It blew my fur around and I delighted in the feel. A small, contented sigh escaped my lips, and Roman smiled. as much as a wolf could.

“Feel good?” He asked through our link.

I repeated my sigh as I tried to answer him through our link. I’d done it a minute ago, but now couldn’t remember how.

“You’ll learn.” Roman said.

Dean, still in human form, pulled the blanket off me. “Gonna feel even better on your body.” He patted my neck. Another breeze blew and my whole body delighted in the feel of it moving my fur. It was an exquisite feeling, like someone was rubbing my skin with velvet, and I turned to Roman who nuzzled my nose again.

I needed to get up. I could feel that in the depths of my soul, but I couldn’t figure out how. “Hold on Cub.” Dean said. “Is the pain better now?”

I tried to answer but couldn’t. How the fuck did I do that? Roman was quick to answer for me. “She’s better. Ready to stand.” I heard.

Seth and Roman rose. Dean and Shay joined us. They’d transitioned to wolves. Roman turned me onto my stomach, and as I fumbled around trying to find my footing, my pack helped by pushing against me and up.

A chorus of celebratory sounds echoed around the forest once I’d stood. The urge to howl over took me, and I cried out into the night, the tribe joining my call. I’d done it. Hadn’t I? I’d gotten through the worst. Roman nuzzled my cheek as he agreed. “You did it baby. You’re one of us now.” Seth and Dean started another round of howls.

I took tentative steps on my new feet…. Feet or paws? Either way, I felt a desperate need to walk, and I gingerly took my first steps, figuring out the rhythm of when to move which leg, but once I started walking, instinct kicked in, and I found my footing.

Walking slowly through the tribe now, I felt pride and love in their hearts. I brushed up against Shay. Somehow I’d just known that was how to thank her. She turned and licked my ear, which I knew meant you’re welcome…. Well, the feeling of you’re welcome.

Hearing Dean’s voice in my head, I stopped walking and listened. “I wanna play!” Seth was quick to join him, and the two play-fought at the edge of the lake where I’d sat earlier today. I watched carefully, trying to figure out how to use our link.

I felt as if I was standing in the middle of a round room with doors all around it leading to other rooms. Each room was a pack mate…. Seth on the left, Dean in the middle and Roman was to the right of me. If I focused on someone, I could feel their emotions, but not the words.

My legs grew tired of standing quickly, and although the pain was easing, it was still strong. When a muscle in my ankle seized up, I decided to lay down. Ro laid next to me, rubbing his muzzle against mine. “You ok?” he asked. That… that aura…. that smell… that was my mate! I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, so I howled out my emotion. I felt Roman’s happiness that I was happy. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

I had to comfort him. To let him know it was worth it. He was worth it. I focused on his aura, and suddenly I did it! I said, “You’re totally worth it.”

He kissed my cheek before rubbing his muzzle on mine. A feeling of Déjà vu overtook me. I’d dreamt this the other night… my brothers playing, my mate nuzzling my muzzle. This was the exact dream I’d had.

I could feel my body healing quickly. The pain slowly subsiding. As it did, the urge to stand and walk returned.  As soon as I thought about standing, there were wolves around me pushing me up. I had no idea how to thank them, but I heard Roman’s voice in my head thanking them.

Once I was up, I wandered around the area, circling as I found my footing. Roman walked beside me, proud that his Cub was learning so fast.

Sure that had my footing now, Roman communicated to me that he wanted to show me something. I walked by his side, and the tribe started following us. Dean and Seth took Roman’s place in the back of the pack, while Roman and I led the wolves from the front so we could go at my pace.

It wasn’t a long walk. At least it didn’t feel long to me, but when we reached the top of a mountain peak, I looked back toward the cabin, and it was much farther than I thought it would be.

Roman bumped into me to get my attention, and I followed his lead. As we reached the top, I took in the amazing view before us. Mountains surrounded us, most taller than the one we were on, and between them, a valley stretched below us, divided by a narrow river with steep banks on all sides. It was a stunning view with the green from the valley contrasted against the cold ice-capped mountains around it. The full moon showing off every turn of the river and every rock on the shores. The river was starting to freeze at the edges. It wouldn’t be long before it was frozen over. The winter winds in the valley would ensure that.

I pressed up against Roman’s side as a way to thank him for letting me see this. I could feel his pride at making me happy. “When you feel better, I’ll show you more.” He nuzzled my neck and licked my cheek.

The tribe was all around us, spreading out across the apex of the mountain, exploring the terrain. Some even venturing down the steep mountain side and drinking from the cold stream. Seth and Dean, not wanting to leave my side, wrestled playfully with some of the younger wolves nearby.

Shay’s voice broke into my head, “Ok, Cub. Time to get you back. You need to rest.”

How did Shay do that? I looked at Roman. “You’ll learn when we get to Samoa, Cub. Don’t worry about it right now.” He started leading me back to the cabin, the family coming with us.

Getting down the mountain was much harder than going up, because my muscles were tired already. I understood that the more I moved my muscles now, the more I’d hurt when I turned human again.

I made it back to the cabin, slowly, but I made it. I collapsed of exhaustion when we reached the spot by the lake that Roman and I had sat in earlier today. Roman laid by my side, pressing into me to comfort me. Dean and Seth were playing with a bunch of cubs. I watched as my pack-mates were attacked by the tiny wolves. They pretended the cubs were doing more damage than they were. It warmed my heart to see how much fun they were having.

When Dean broke away and went to the cabin, Shay followed behind. Both went to where they’d left their clothes and returned in human form. “Can you walk back to the cabin, Cub?” Dean asked as he pet my neck. I didn’t think I could. I was too tired, but when Dean came to pick me up to take me back inside, Roman growled protectively.

“I’ll get her.” Shay said, easily picking me up and carrying me inside. Roman never left my side though. One I was laid back on the bed, Roman transformed back into a human, turning his back to me and quickly putting on pants, but I had seen his rather fine ass and that amazingly muscular back. I grumbled a sound, and he turned to see me, smirking at my obvious desire.

“Ok, Cub, Are you ready?” Dean asked.

I looked to my mate, seeing fear in his eyes. He didn’t want me to have to turn again, but I had total faith in Dean and Shay’s abilities. I thought yes, and Shay inserted a needle into my arm.

“Count back from ten,” Dean said as he started the anesthetic.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5. As I counted lower and lower, I could feel the fear go through the three of them. Were the meds going to put me out this time? 4, 3……

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire @starwithaheart @spookys-girl @pitlissa22

[polarfarina]

One thing that pisses me off more than anything is that I can get a migraine for any teeny tiny reason or even no reason at all. I can never tell what I should change about my life because I do everything exactly the same on purpose and it still doesn't matter

Like okay. I can sleep in for an extra hour and wake up with a headache that will haunt me for days. I can take my lunch 15 minutes later than normal and I go back to work so dizzy my brain feels like it's melting, even though I always have a decent size meal with protein and a drink, every goddamn day. I don't know how I can account for/change such tiny insignificant details that are caused by things I don't always have control of. Oh the sun shines a bit more through my window than it did yesterday. Time for brain pain. Two people are talking to me at once. Short circuit, now I can't process any audio at all for at least half an hour. Everything is so loud and bright and I can't keep taking these damn meds because I'm almost out of my prescription and I'm so close to the max daily/weekly dosage that is safe to take anyway. But I'm just so pissed all the time. Why do I have to have such a jumbled goddamn head? I can't think or do anything right. It's so frustrating.

I can't always risk taking meds when I'm working either because they sometimes make me so dizzy it's hard to stay grounded in reality. It's not safe to be working like that. So I just power through I guess. Typically I take the medicine and go for a nap so it can do its job without me feeling so weird. I just wish I had actual solutions. For several reasons (mostly insurance) the soonest I can get a doctors appointment for non-emergency care is in august. Which sucks. I have to wait another two months to try and start figuring any of my problems out. And migraines are just one of them.

[pikemoreno]

lucky

pairing: marcus moreno x gn!reader

request: from @chibi-liz05​ “Can I request a Marcus Moreno fic (or ficlet, or drabble) where either Marcus or reader gets hurt (not seriously hurt) and end up in a med bay, kinda woozy from pain meds and they have a funny and/or cute conversation when the other one goes to check on the one hurt? Please.”

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, death. it starts out pretty darn angsty, but gets silly and fluffy i promise. these two are hella married.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: honestly this is nothing like you asked for until the end? but this lil drabble idea inspired this whole one shot so i hope you enjoy what you helped my brain create? i loved this, needless to say.

i love this himbo and i’m so happy to write for him.

And thank you for the medical advice to @disgruntledspacedad! Thanks for helping me choose the right drug! 😆

wanna join a taglist? | masterlist

This was Marcus’s least favorite part of his job. 

As the newly deemed Director of the Heroics, he was the one to decide who went out on what mission when and with who. Normally it wasn’t too tall of an order. After all, he was chosen as director for good reason. He was perfect for the job. He was smart, organized, resourceful, and tried in everything to understand people-- whether that be in their personal habits or in their superpowered strengths. He was often commended for his ability to form the perfect teams for whatever job arose; and it came pretty naturally, it really did. 

That is, until emotion got involved, until personal bias compromised his decision making.

He was determined to not let you go on the mission, absolutely not. The band of powered individuals the team was going after were incredibly dangerous and unpredictable.They’d been a problem for months and this mission was all or nothing. The high stakes and vulnerable position made him incredibly reluctant to make you a part of the team that was heading out under the cover of night to apprehend them. When he didn’t name you among them, he was immediately countered by the rest of the heroes in the room about the choice. 

By all the accounts they were right. Given the tactics of the mission at hand, your teleportation abilities were perfect for the job. And if he was being even a little more honest, he’d agree with Miracle Guy that not sending you with them was a “disservice to the team.” It was and he knew it. In a very un-Marcus Moreno move, he was making the completely wrong choice and he wasn’t going to let the sound judgement of anyone else change his mind.

“Psion is not going and that is final,” he boomed. The room became deathly silent. “Now, go get ready. You leave in 20.” But no one moved, no one could. They were glued to the floor, watching their unflappable leader become uncharacteristically flapped. 

Marcus was the one to stomp out of the room first and you followed him without hesitation.

“Marcus,” you called, nearly running to keep up with long strides. “Marcus!” 

He didn’t even deign to turn around.

In a blink you were now in front of Marcus, hands out to stop him from continuing on without talking to you.

“No teleporting outside of work, Psion” he snapped lowly, but he still obliged your silent request and remained in front of you. You blinked at the small outburst.

“Mind losing the ‘tude so we can talk like adults?” You countered. Marcus lowered his head and whispered an apology. At that you stepped closer to him, your hands coming to rest on his tense shoulders in a soothing manner. “What’s bothering you, love? You know you can talk to me. This isn’t like you at all.”

When his eyes met yours again they were pained.

“It’s too dangerous,” was all he could get out at the moment. His exhale was unsteady as he leaned in, his forehead meeting yours in a much more “Marcus” gesture that brought you both back down to earth.

You sighed, fingers carding through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Of course it is. It always is.”

“Not like this,” he countered, biting his lip. “These guys are no joke.”

“Neither am I,” you grinned, tapping his nose with your own before pulling back to look at his face in full. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t whole-hearted, you saw it in his eyes.

“And I trust you. I do. I know you’re capable. I just--”

“Worry?” 

“Yeah, that.” His eyebrows were furrowed. You softly ran a thumb across the harsh lines it made, smoothing them and making him smile.

“I’m not going to lie to you and say nothing is going to happen. Because it might.” He winced at the words, not wanting to think too hard on what “it” could be. “But I’m prepared and so is the rest of the team. We’re gonna watch each other’s backs like we always do and getting everyone out safely is going to be our priority over completing the mission. It’s going to be business as usual and it’s going to be OK. I’m going to be OK. You’ve gotta let me go. They need me out there tonight.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Just… Be careful. Be ready in 10.” You sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Marcus.” You kissed him. “It’s gonna be fine.” He kissed you. “We’ve got ‘em this time. I know it.” One last kiss, strong and lingering. You tilted your head, an invitation-- no, a plead-- for a deeper kiss, which he obliged before being the one to break it. 

“Go,” he murmured, “Or you won’t make it before they leave.” You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled through the sudden onset of nerves before turning and walking down the hallway to join up with the rest of the team.

***

That had been hours ago. Now Marcus was in command with a skeleton crew, the late hours of the assignment sending most of the support and technical team home. He quickly decided that was probably for the best. The sweet little interns did not need to see their mentor so stressed and antsy. No, he had to be “on” for them, he had to be the Marcus Moreno. And he couldn’t be that right now. Right now he was an anxious husband and teammate. 

“Where are they now, Connie?” he asked the poor woman at the comms desk behind him for the upteenth time that hour.

“Trackers say they’re still in the hanger, sir. Last update was that they had the grunts and were waiting for the ring leader to respond to their distress call.”

He wasn’t responding. It’d been two hours. And that was a major cause for concern.

“Tell them to just bring who they have back here and we’ll keep searching for him. This is still a win as far as I’m concerned.”

The man who was on comms moved to press the talk button to speak to the team, but the comm crackled to life before he had the opportunity. 

“It’s an ambush!” Miracle Guy yelled from the other side, “We’re sitting ducks out here!”

Marcus’ heart dropped into his stomach. 

“Go! Go! Get back to the-” He heard your panicked voice call out, the sentence interrupted by a cry of pain. 

The room spun. Marcus knew he was yelling but he couldn’t hear a word of what he said. It all just sounded like white noise now, mixing with the jumbled thoughts in his head and the ringing in his ears. He must’ve said something right though, because everyone was working. One was arranging a rescue, one was calling out the vitals of the team via the trackers on their wrists-- everything seemed fine by the tone of voice, but Marcus couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t grasp a word that was said to him. He was totally on autopilot, only able to respond in vague nods of yes or no. 

“Hey,” one voice next to him cut through the fog and he looked up to Lucas, the man who ran comms, “They’re going to be ok.”

Marcus’s response was non-committal, not wanting to pull the young man down to share his current state of mind, but not allowing himself to share in his confident optimism either.

The next hour went by in a whirlwind and the next thing he knew, Marcus was downstairs in the medical wing waiting on you and your team to arrive. He’d been in this position before and the thought of it made his throat close up. The images flashed through his mind of a gurney and too much blood and a confused little girl and black clothing on a rainy day in April. 

He closed his eyes harder as if to block it all out. 

No, it couldn’t be like last time.

It was then that he heard the distinct sound of the sliding doors opening and the murmur of a small group of people. His eyes shot open and, though he stood to his feet, he felt that he could collapse in relief. There was no gurney. Minimal blood-- just a couple of cuts on your face. You were hobbling in, arm around Miracle Guy as he helped you keep pressure off of your left leg. Your face was pained, which probably should have concerned him more, but he was just too happy to see you upright… Breathing. As long as he had that, you could get through anything else together. 

He watched as the medical team surrounded all of you, asking questions, prodding delicately at injuries. Marcus could vaguely hear your voice cutting in and out through it all. 

“Super strength… Kicked… Broken.” 

They had asked you a couple more unheard questions that you responded to in a simple yes or no and then they were leading you to sit on one of the beds. He watched as you went, noticing the way you were looking around for… Something.

Oh.

He smiled.

You were looking for him.

In all his panic and then relief, it hadn’t occurred to him that you would want to see him just as badly in your current state. His heart warmed at the way your tired eyes lit up when they met his. He all but ran to you. 

“Hey baby,” he cooed, leaning in to capture your lips in a deep kiss. He’d never been more in awe of you, that you were real, that way you were his, that he could kiss you freely. When he pulled away he observed your injuries closer. Head wounds were always scary amounts of bloody, but he could see that all of the cuts were minor. He brushed a strand of hair away from where sweat and blood had plastered it to your forehead. “What happened? How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” you hissed as a stab of pain surged through your leg. He looked down to observe it. His immediate diagnosis wasn’t a good one. It was terribly hard to break a femur, but he was certain this was exactly what it would look and feel like. “Some super-strength asshole kicked me in the thigh to knock me down and--” You winced again. “They think she broke my femur, and I would have to agree.”

“I have to say I’m thinking that too,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed your forehead in between the cuts.

“What are you sorry for? You’re the one that tried to keep me from going. I forced you to let me go.”

“I should’ve stood my ground and had you and the team be mad at me,” he said completely seriously. 

“You’re ridiculous.” You side-eyed him, but smiled through the words. One of the medical staff returned at that moment, bringing over supplies to clean your cuts and asking if you’d like something for the pain while they got prepped for surgery. You nodded eagerly. 

“I’ll take this over,” Marcus said, hands open to take the first aid kit, “If you want to go get that?”

“Oh, sir I couldn’t ask you to--” The young woman gawked, slightly unbelieving that her boss’s boss’s boss would volunteer to do her job.

“You’re not asking me, I’m asking you.”

“A-- Yes, right away.” She handed him the kit and seemed to flee his presence to get an IV ready. You sat in silence a few moments as he prepared everything. He seemed lost, even in this small task. It took him longer than it should’ve to get his ducks in a row.

“Someone’s a little edgy,” you prodded, watching as too-intense eyes focused on cleaning dried blood from your forehead. He shook his head, eyes softening, but maintaining their focus. The whole endeavor was very clearly an attempt at keeping his hands as busy as his mind was. 

“I’d thought I‘d lost you. I thought...” His jaw tightened-- and it wasn’t due to the effort of wiping up blood. You stopped his hand from continuing its ministrations, lacing your fingers together.

“That it was all happening again?” you whispered. 

“It was like deja vu, baby. Everything was just like before.” The last word almost came out like a whimper. 

“But it’s not. I’m right here. I’m ok.” You brought your forehead to meet his comfortingly. The cuts stung just a little at the touch, but you remained there with him, feeling a deep, grounding breath fan lightly across your face.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You kissed his nose and pulled away as you heard the medic return with the Versed for the pain. Marcus stayed right by your side as you were put on the IV, a hand staying firmly on yours. Which more for him than for you if he was honest. It brought him back to reality and out of his head. He no longer had to imagine the worst, because the best had happened. You were really there. It wasn’t a repeat of the aching horror of seven years before, the day that still had you shaking him awake from unspoken nightmares. You’d made it home to him and Missy-- but he was going to be hard-pressed to go against his better judgment again, no matter how much the team needed you.

“Alright, you’ll start to feel it in just a few seconds. We’ll be back soon to take you into surgery, ok?” the medic explained to you as the IV was in place. You nodded. 

“In the meantime, let me keep working on this,” Marcus gestured to the bandages in the kit. As he got to work, he watched the look in your eyes totally change, the Versed taking effect. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, covering the cut that just barely grazed your right eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you sighed dreamily in a total demeanor change. The whole room lit up in his eyes. Marcus grinned at the way your posture slumped just slightly in relaxation. “And how are you?” you winked. Oh, this was going to be fun. He really needed to keep you talking.

“I’m doing great. Happy to be here with you, sweetheart. Now, sit still while I take care of this last cut,” he cooed. 

“Ok,” you giggled. “What a charmer.” 

“I try my best, darling.” He played along, enjoying the way the Versed had turned you into a starstruck girl with a crush.

“Oh noooo,” you squeaked suddenly.Marcus panicked, checking you over quickly for further injury. 

“What is it? Are you ok?” 

But you only grabbed his left hand, holding it up.

“You’re married!” 

Marcus blinked. What was in that stuff they’d given you? You put your face in your hands and Marcus tried to contain his laughter at the way your voice was muffled by your fingers. “You’ve been so nice and caring! I wanted to ask you on a dateeee. I’m so sorry if I came on too strong.”

“Baby,” he called with a sweet lilt to his voice-- still trying to hold in a laugh. 

“You shouldn’t call me that,” you sighed sadly, pouting, “You’re married. We can’t be together.” 

“Of course I’m married,” he held your left hand up now, “I’m married to you, you goof.” You blinked at the silvery ring on your finger. 

“Oh!” you practically yelled, “That’s so cool!” Marcus’ heart warmed at the way your eyes lit up at the realization. Even drugged out of your mind you were excited to be with him. He couldn’t help but feel likewise.

“I agree,” he smiled, “It’s very cool.” He intertwined his fingers and yours. 

“I’m so lucky,” you grinned toothily in response. It was so unlike the smiles you usually gave him: too exaggerated and, in a word, dopey. But it held the same affection. 

“No, I’m definitely the lucky one,” he countered. Your grin faltered slightly as you grew sleepy-- another possible effect of the Versed, he guessed. “Now, go ahead and lay back for me ok? I’ll see you as soon as you’re out of surgery.” You nodded in agreement and then right off to sleep.

Oh, he could not wait for you to get out so he could tell you about just how “lucky” the two of you were.

[romanapologist]

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

[writeintrees]

Shay Bad Day -- Saving Zora Oneshot

from the universe of my novel

Shay has chronic pain and fatigue and is an above the knee congenital amputee

Found this in my old notes (Jan 2020!) and decided to share

“Come on, let's get those meds in you.” 

Okay. Okay, yes-- umm… shit what did he say? She squints at Bennett as if the present blurriness is coming from her eyes and not her brain. Right, medication. Gotta take that. She pats around on her nightstand for a moment before registering the image in front of her. She takes the water bottle he holds towards her. Even the weight of the full bottle in her hand causes the muscles in her hand to seize, every tendon straining across her arm and shoulders. Her lower back aches badly. G-d, sitting upright is too much. In a practiced motion she takes a sip of water, tosses back the entire handful of pills, then follows it with another big swig. Her brain short circuits part way through. It’s as if her brain says swallowing fully is wrong so let’s just not do the full action.

Next thing she knows, she’s doubled over and letting out weak, rasping coughs. The water bottle has slipped out of her hands. Maybe there is a hand rubbing her back, but maybe it’s just a random signal her brain is spitting out. After all it feels like there is a chill breeze on the side of her face that she knows isn’t real. Let’s not even mention the phantom sensations in her missing leg. 

She is still hunched over, propping herself upright with one arm. Every drop of will she can muster goes into pressing the buttons to take off her prosthetic. Her brow furrows as she orders her fingers to move in a semi-coordinated manner. If they could, her eyes would’ve bored holes through the thing with the intensity she directs at it. She is frustrated at her muscles for not moving properly and at every movement feeling like hell.

She is lying on her back. When did that happen? Bennett is hooking her prosthetic into its holder against the nightstand. There is a faint impression of pressure on her shoulder. He must have gently eased her onto the mattress. It would still hurt if it had been forceful. Maybe he said something too. Maybe she agreed. Who’s to say?

G-d, my brain won’t work.

How did I even get here? There’s a flash of dinner. She was doing alright then. Or maybe she was just kidding herself. A faint memory of transfering from the couch to her wheelchair. Or was that from a couple days ago? Or a dream. She tilts her face into the pillow and groans. Fuck, this sucks. There is a pang in her chest and the feeling behind her eyes and-- no, I don’t have the energy to cry right now! 

She stays like that, her face in the pillow, trying to ground herself in her other senses. There is a gentle weight of her comforter being draped over her. The mattress below warps as someone takes a seat at her side. Like a gravity well. A hand rests itself on her shaking shoulders. That one is real. There’s no mistaking it.

Bennett’s voice comes in clear: “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Fuck.” She whispers into her tear damp pillow. Emotion explodes out of that single word, despair and helplessness steeped in frustration.

“You can get through this, Shay. You’re not alone. You will not feel this bad forever. Tomorrow is a new day. And even if this becomes your new normal, Jared and I will stay with you no matter what.”

Shit she hates how well they know her. How he knows which paths her brain likes to take when things get bad. These tracks are more well worn than she likes to admit. 

Bennett knows the shortcuts out. Not because he read her mind or anything like that, but because she mentioned these thoughts in a messy jumble sometime a few years ago. Things may have shifted but she still has the same obstacles that she is chipping away at. She’s endlessly grateful that Bennett and Jared actually listened. They remembered these things and implemented them on her bad days.

They’re the real MVPs. She needs to give them a big hug-- when her arms feel like moving. Even shifting back to a sleeping position feels like whipping those giant ropes in the gym. 

She knows that Bennett won’t be discouraged by her lack of verbal response. He usually sees her fatigue through her eyes and the easing of her pain in the way her muscles relax. Her body stops shaking from half-formed sobs.

She gasps as there is a tug. “Sorry, this’ll make you feel better.” The hands are gentle at the back of her head. Suddenly there is a release and she is able to sink into her bed. The lump and headache subside all at once. Oh, my ponytail was still up. She sighs, trying not to be saddened by that. I’m going to be okay.

Bennett presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Good night. I hope the spoon fairy comes while you sleep.”

Shay smiles and hums. There is a gentle whoosh of the door opening and closing. White noise wraps around her. The weight of her body is lost under plush blankets and she drifts off with her heart a little lighter.

[rai-wick]

Gally x Reader Chapter 35: The end

Y/N'S POV

I felt a cool salty breeze blow over my face making me groan. I wearily opened my eyes to see I was lying in a wooden hut. I grunted in pain as I got up from the bed. I pulled up my shirt to see bandages around my stomach. I slipped on the shoes which were next to the bed and lifted the thin veil over the entrance. I walked out to see a sandy shore ahead of me. So this was the safe haven everyone was talking about.

"You jerk!"I turned my head to see a bunch of kids messing around. Looking on, I saw a small settlement with people walking around or talking with one another. I stumbled as I walked around, watching in wonder while people worked with some stopping to watch me passing by. Looking in front of me, I saw Thomas, Frypan and Minho approaching me. I waved at them before Thomas pulled me into a hug.

"Thank god you woke up"His voice was muffled as he hugged me tightly.

"How long was I asleep?"I asked when he let me go, only for me to be pulled into more hugs from Frypan and Minho.

"Almost two weeks"Frypan replied.

"Please don't ever run in front of bullets again"Minho half-joked.

"I can't make any promises"I chuckled as they rolled their eyes"So, where's Gally?"I asked them, my heart pounding, dreading any more bad news.

"He's fine"Thomas assured me"He's just resting for the first time since we got here"

"He hasn't been resting?"I questioned.

"He wouldn't leave your side"Minho said softly"Wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat. He wouldn't even shower. I'm surprised his smell alone didn't wake you up"I smiled at that before looking down. I saw the guys look at each other before Thomas took my arm.

"Come on, I want to show you something"I waved to Minho and Frypan as Thomas led me to a center area that had a huge rock in front of it with dozens of names carved into it. I ran my fingers over the names: Teresa, Winston, Chuck, Alby and.....Newt. I paused at his name, staring at it.

"I miss him Tommy"I said quietly.

"I miss him too _______"He put his arm around my shoulders"Gally said he found you clenching this"He opened his hand to reveal the tubular pendant which was now open"I found some letters inside"I looked up at Thomas as I picked up the pendant.

"What did they say?"

"I found one addressed to me and one for you"He pointed to the paper curled inside"Don't worry, I didn't read yours. Whatever Newt wrote, it isn't for me to know"He smiled softly at me"I want you to the keep the pendant. I have my letter, it's enough for me"He kissed my forehead and patted my shoulder before walking away.

I made my way to a cliff side just beyond the huts and sat down. I took a deep breath then with shaky hands, I pulled out the letter and read it.

Dear _______,

I don't know when I last wrote down something this important. Not since before the maze, I suppose. But I feel you need to read this because I know you're probably shutting everyone out like you do when things begin to wear down on you. But I can't let you do that, love. I can't let you waste away just because you believe I'm gone. I'm not, I promise.

I won't relay when or how I got infected but I've had it long enough to accept my fate. I'm not scared of dying but I am scared of forgetting those I love. Every night before I sleep, I've been saying their names over and over. Alby, Winston, Chuck. It reminds me of what we used to take for granted back in the glade; the sun shining over a new day, the wild yells of bonfire night and you.

I always hoped despite the fact you always said you loved us all equally, that perhaps you felt something more for me as I have always felt for you. Alas, your heart wasn't mine to take, it was made for Gally. I want you to be happy, you deserve it, whether it's with Gally or without but I don't want you to waste your future because it's not just your future, it's ours. As long as you're living your life, I'm not gone. So I need you to live again, I know what you and Gally have is special, don't let it fade away. Thank you for showing me how to live. Goodbye my love Newt x

GALLY'S POV

I made my way to the med hut, grumbling as I remembered Minho and Frypan shoving me out despite my protests, while Thomas blocked the entrance.

FLASHBACK

"I need to be there when she wakes up!"I struggled against them.

"Gally, you smell worse than a sewer. She's going to faint when she smells you, especially if you're sitting right next to her"Minho groaned as he pulled me further away from the hut.

"You need a shower man!"I ripped my arm out of their grasp as Frypan panted.

"I'll shower when I know she's okay!"I ran back to Thomas"Out of my way Thomas"

"No Gally. This is for your own good"He tackled me, knocking me over"She'll be fine for a couple of minutes while you shower and eat"I stopped struggling as I fell back against the sand, weak and exhausted.

"She was shot right in front of me, how can I leave her alone anymore?"I said, staring up at the sky.

"She's not alone, Gally. We're finally safe"Minho helped me sit up."And besides, _______ doesn't need protection, she needs common sense not to dive head first into danger"I chuckled at this and stood up.

"Fine. I'll shower but I'm eating here"They nodded in agreement and I glanced back to the hut as we walked away"She's going to be okay"

FLASHBACK

I pushed past the veil and my heart dropped when I saw the empty bed. I turned around, sprinting to where Thomas was standing, staring out onto the sea.

"She's gone!"I grabbed him by the shoulders, my words coming out jumbled due to my panic"I looked in the hut and she-she is just gone. Thom-"

"Gally! Breathe!"He pushed me off him"_______ is fine. She woke up while you were resting. She's right over there"He pointed to a small ridge overlooking the sea where a figure was seated.

"Right okay"I calmed down, breathing deeply"Thanks"I waved him away as I made my way to the ridge. As I approached, I felt a sense of deja vu when I saw her shoulders shaking as she stared at the horizon. Just like before, I felt I should walk away but she turned to me before I could.

"Gally"Her voice was hoarse and her normally bright _____ eyes were dull and rimmed red.

"Hey _______"I awkwardly sat down next to her while she wiped away her tears. I noticed the tubular pendant around her neck and the tear stained letter in her hands, with Newt's distinct handwriting. I looked away, unsure what to say"How are you feeling?"

"Physically? Fine"She answered"Mentally? Like shit"She scoffed"How have you been? I heard you wouldn't leave me alone"She looked at me with soft smile.

"Yeah, well it was my fault you got hurt"I muttered, my cheeks turning red"I should have seen that bullet coming"

"Gally, no"She sat closer to me, shaking her head"It was my stupidity that got me hurt and you know what"She looked down, slowly interlocking her fingers with mine before looking back at me"I would take a bullet for you every day of my life"

"What about Newt?"I found myself blurting and I wanted to punch my brain as her eyes flashed with pain while she removed her hand from mine"It's just I know he had feelings for you and you clearly felt something back"I rambled.

"And you know this how?"She asked me, her gaze intense.

"Oh come off it _______"I scoffed"You weren't exactly hiding it, what with the constant hand holding and lovesick glances"My fists curling while I spat this out"I've known from the start that you weren't really mine to love. I shouldn't have come back, I should have died-"I was cut off when she kissed me suddenly, pulling away before I fully registered what happened.

"I forgot just how dim you can be"She gasped, holding onto my shirt"Gally, hear me out and don't interrupt alright?"I nodded, still speechless"Yes, I cared for Newt more differently than I cared for the others and yes maybe if you hadn't come back, something might have happened between us"I opened my mouth but she held up her finger"But I also know that seeing you again was the day my soul came alive once more. Newt knew this and because he loved me, he knew I would only be truly happy with you. You have and always will be the world for me. I love you Gally"She finished softly.

"I'm sorry for all the hurt I've put you through sweetheart"I cupped her face gently"I always hoped I would find you alive and we could start over again. That things could be different."

"Well, this is our chance, my love"She held her hand over mine, smiling"I don't ever want to be apart from you again Gally"

"I'll never let that happen _______. I promise"I smiled. We slowly leaned in and kissed properly. I felt my heart soar as I pulled her closer, savouring her natural taste of sweetness, a taste which couldn't be found anywhere else. After months without her, I was dying to have more but I pulled away with reluctance. Her eyes remained closed for a second before she opened them with slight confusion.

"Is something wrong?"She asked, her eyebrows knitting in confusion.

"Everything's fine"I run my thumb across her cheek"I just want to savour our time together"She blushed at that and slid her arms around my chest, crawling into my lap as we faced the sea.

"I like the sound of that"She smiled as I held her close, placing her head on my shoulder. I kissed her forehead and slipped my hand into hers.

"Our forever starts today"

THE END!

[lillianofliterature]

Dear followers,

I wanted to leave a larger summary of what’s going on behind the scenes. I know I already give little updates often with breaks in-between stories, but I felt like this last few months has been rougher and more inconsistent than usual. 

First off, I know I don’t owe anyone anything or even need to offer an explanation - I write as a hobby and as a therapeutic method to relieve anxiety and depression. I don’t get paid. I write for free, I share online for free. 

That being said, I feel like my payment is the response I receive for all of my stories. The comments, the likes, the reblogs -- not because they’re numbers or markers of success, but because each notification means I’ve touched someone in some way. I’ve made a good impact on someone out there. I’m making a difference. That means everything to me. You all are amazing individuals. 

With my ADHD (I was just diagnosed back in October, so it’s all pretty new to me still) it makes it so difficult to not feel guilty or shameful about not posting once a week or every other week, or whatever schedule I try to force on myself for no reason other than to “be like normal able-bodied people”, even though no one has ever rudely mentioned my spotty activity. It’s something I struggle with internally that ties into my perfectionism and having to fix a story until it’s “perfect”, which is an unachievable goal regardless of task or person. 

Right now in my life, I have so much going on even though I’m not able to go out and about in the world (like most other spoonies and disabled folk around the globe). I’m in therapy dealing with a lot of childhood trauma regarding domestic violence that I, my mother, and my brother, survived. I was diagnosed with PTSD, which I’m still wrapping my brain around. My panic attacks happen more often now and my dreams are horrific as I remember more and more. I was clinically diagnosed with depression, generalized anxiety, and then there’s that whole looming elephant in the room called POTS and Dysautonomia.

So if I’m being honest, I don’t feel like my best self right now or anywhere near that. And that’s a bit terrifying, especially when the world around us feels so unstable and my family is separated by lockdowns and safety protocols. Therapy is helping, although it’s a painful and truly excruciating experience some days. The biggest blow with all of this diagnosing and discussing is that I thought I was fine -- all of these years I was told by my abusers that I was overreacting, I was just sensitve, I was making things up, only “believing what I wanted to believe”. I had been gaslighted and shut down for so many years that I had believed it was all fine. I was okay. I had no reason to be depressed or bothered by it all. 

And then somewhere in the last five or six months, it all fell apart, or rather blew open like an infuriated geyser. There’s so much chaos in my mind right now that it’s all I can do to get out of bed and make sure I eat, take my heart meds, and stay hydrated. Somehow my brain feels like dark blue, or completely black. It’s just dark and murky up there. Some days I make earrings for my shop, I color in a few drawings, I clean my room five times a day to ward off the intrusive thoughts. But writing has just seemed too daunting and a little bit intimidating. I’m a bit scared to open up my emotional side through a story right now, I’m afraid of what I might find hidden further in my heart. 

I say all of this not only to explain myself and get it off my chest, but to shed a light on anyone who might stumble upon this. You are not alone. You are not crazy. You are not losing your mind or your ability to make a difference with your uniqueness. You’re being sculpted. Chiseled away at like a great marble statue. Pruned like a berry vine so next harvest your fruits will have multiplied. This darkness is not the end. It’s a wave, it’s an encompassing storm that tosses you to and fro and leaves you vulnerable in its wake, but it will not destroy you. It’s a temporay season of life. You will make it through this. 

You are worthy. You have things to do here. Dreams to find. People to love. 

So, I don’t know when another story will come. I have so many ideas I’ve been sorting through and a lot of jumbled up projects rumbling around in the ole cranial unit, but not the energy or wherewithal to execute them with clarity right now. I am by no means leaving the platform or putting away my pen, I’m not going anywhere, but I’m completely through with putting undue expectations on myself when I’m already trying to carry so much at this time in my life. I may post next week, I may post next month. I may post five times in a week or five times across three months. Whatever it ends up being, I���m going to be okay with that.

Thankfully, my therapist encouraged me to write about what happened in a story (and even encouraged my hobby of writing fanfiction as a coping/healing mechanism) and change the narrative to one of strengh and survival, so I’m being encouraged to use my craft as a way of healing, which I know will serve me well. (So basically, everyone, fanfiction is therapist-approved, so tell that to your rude friends or family members who judge you for it.) I sort of touched on it in a cleaned up way through my Aragorn fic, Tell Me Your Story, but there’s still so much left to divulge and toss out of my being for good. 

I just wanted to say all off this and let everyone know that I love you and even if no one in your life is saying it enough or at all, I’ll say it sincerely.

I need you on this planet with me until the very end, you got it? I need you here, doing your thing only you can do, and I need you to take care of yourself. Even if our paths never cross. I need you here. I mean that. Your life makes a difference. It is making a difference. 

There’s no age limit or time limit on success or which path to take. It’s alright to pause, take a breath, and let yourself figure it out at your own pace. 

Just take it day by day. Eat. Drink. Wash up when you can. Exist.

That is enough. Just existing is enough. Living your life, day to day, taking care of yourself and perservering, is extraordinary. Keep it up.

Xx Lillian

[empathdespoina]

The world is crazy and more of a nasty ball of negativity, anger, rage, people going psychotic onto others and being racist.

I think these last four years has taken a harder toll on others. Those who feel as if you’re being crushed by so much negativity, that life looks bleak. You’re questioning your sanity around others; especially those who spout bullshit information and you feel it true deep down inside that, what they’re saying is false information and can’t convince them of the correct information. Due to these people obsess with social media and not fact checking the implausible information or infatuated with what celebs and other things that are going on...that isn’t important to what the FUCK is truly going on in this world. That by the time you get away from this person you feel gross and disgusting on the inside and your head feels all jumble and can’t get the bs junk out of your head and driving you crazy.

Or there are times you just get that weird vibe from a person and your dog confirms it by wanting no part of that person and getting the hell away from them.

There can be times you feel anxious and way way overwhelmed that you explored by yelling and screaming at others...or run far far away from that area. There can be times when you woke up feeling great and out of nowhere you’re depress and it’s heavy on you, as if it’s a second skin. Then there are times it’s almost as if you’re under the influence of some sort of substance and yet you don’t do drugs or swore you didn’t drink THAT much. Causing you to seek therapy and psych meds to control everything to JUST GET THROUGH THE DAY.

Well here’s something to make you feel less crazy...you’re an Empath- a person gifted with the ability to feel emotion of others...including animals, plants, the planet and at times peoples’ physical pain. There’s six types of empaths that I will explain in my next post.

But I want to let you know there are other people who are empaths and know their gift and can control it...yes you can; but takes time and practice....while some have yet to figure this out and develop it or maybe you’re just reading this right now and it’s clicking for you and feels like an AHA moment.

Believe me, I felt like I was loosing my mind at times. But at the same time, I truly DO suffer from mental health issues...which I will discuss in a different post. Some empaths mental health issues can be just being swarmed with too many emotions that are not yours...you don’t know how to get rid of it yet. Or can be like me with mental health problems due to certain things in the environment you were born in or the way you were raised.

For me taking my medicine helps close out other thoughts that as I call it “my brain likes to torture me” of my anxiety and depression issues and rehash things from the past out of nowhere and next thing I know I’m spiraling down the rabbit hole of dark thoughts and hating myself. I also suffer from ADD; but there are also thoughts that this can be an effect; being an Empath that stuff, just doesn’t fill your knowledge well the right way. Just like a piece of food looks delicious to eat...yet the taste doesn’t meet your expectations and you’re looking for something else to satisfy your taste. Which would be you’re bored on what’s being taught to you...you prefer it taught a different way to make it more interesting or find something else to peek your interest.

And I can say you know if your an Empath if you can remember moments from your childhood (me I have a hard time; explain in the future), but one memory I remember as a pre-k kid...noticing my mom came home from work and had a really bad day (she was a group of the early woman to start working on the railroad with the men...and her co-workers and passengers- the asshole ones didn’t take kindly to it), so I said something stupid and silly of a song I learned in pre-k earlier that week. In a weird way it made her smile...due to singing the song and reflecting on that song now; would have no way helped her. Yet it was the thought and concern for my mom that I tried to cheer her up. Empaths ALWAYS want to cheer people up and help easy a little of that persons pain, or unfortunely take all their pain and you’re down burden with the negative stuff. Then there is a story that I don’t remember, when my younger brother was colic for a WHOLE year and drove my mom insane for his non-stop crying and couldn’t pin point what would make him feel better. He cried soo much as a baby, that he gave himself a hernia...which is pretty impressive feat for a baby. So anyway back to this story, that I don’t remember but my mom did and this shows I was using my empathic gift back then and not knowing it (even me reflecting on this was impressive for me; which I can’t be that on point as I was as a kid)...we were at McDonald’s at the drive up and mom ordered me a happy meal, as my brother is crying and screaming his head off next to me. Out of nowhere I somehow realize he was hungry and shoved a French fry in his mouth...I think this was when he was more then six months old..or time period it’s safe to give certain solid foods for babies. Now please note my brother and I are two and a half years apart. So I was still a child on not knowing what was exactly safe. Yet I figured he was hungry and shoved the French fry in his mouth...not to choke him. And he ate that piece of French fry and stopped crying. Which impressed my mother and was grateful for his crying to briefly stop.

Let me ask you this...where you ever accused as a child for being over sensative??? That you’re being too dramatic??? That you’re making a big deal out of nothing??? Well guess what that’s how empaths are before being able control their gift are at times. It’s like learning to build a dam to control things...while heavy water is washing down on you. Also do you feel more comfortable around nature and especially at ease by a body of water...even a tiny pond. And you take pleasure being around an animal or your pet(s) then people at times. Congrats you’re an EMPATH!!!

I will do my best to help you gain knowledge in this field. I will at times discuss my life, my mental health issues and how I’ve gain knowledge about being an Empath and still learning. I hope this blog will help ease you and help you have some better control in your life. When it’s honestly hard to predict what can happen seeing how 2020 with the virus turned out.

So blessed be and may the sun give you the strength to rise for the day; as the moon soothes you at night and your troubles away.

[alwaysmychoices]

“Drunk Texts”

Synopsis: When everything seems to be going wrong, there’s one person Charlie can’t seem to let go of, and after a night drinking, she finds herself in his very apartment...

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlie Greene)

Choices Story: Open Heart (set after Chapter 13)

Rating: Teen (mild profanity)

Words: 2461

Note: I haven’t written in so long, but Open Heart inspired me! I just sat down and wrote this on my day off, so while it may not be my best, I hope you like it!

Part 1 of “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey” 

part 1: drunk texts - part 2: a day with dr. ramsey - part 3: unspoken - part 4: in the morning light - part 5: brunch - part 6: the library -  part 7: the cure - part 8: the celebration - part 9: goodbye

It’s all your fault. You did this. You killed her. How can you even call yourself a doctor?

 Charlie woke with a start, a jumble of words lingering in her mind as the nightmare began to dissipate. Her fingers turned white as she gripped the sheet, desperate for the last three words to leave her: It’s your fault. But they didn’t leave. She was tormented by them just as much in reality as in her dream.

Charlie held out her arm, blindly reaching for the alarm clock on her bedside table to check the time, but… it wasn’t there. Startled, Charlie sat up peered through the dark room for the familiar glow of her clock, convinced she must have knocked it over during her nightmare, but there was no eerie glow to guide her.

“What the…?” Charlie mumbled, gripping her head as dizziness suddenly swamped her brain. She tried to remember what happened the night before, but it was a blur. She didn’t remember much after arriving at the bar, and she definitely didn’t remember coming home.

Charlie slowly crept out of bed, fumbling in the dark room for some light source, and after bumping into several pieces of furniture, she found a light switch and flipped it without a second thought. She winced as the artificial light illuminated her surroundings, and with a grumbling dissatisfaction, she recognized the signs of a brutal hangover starting to form.

“This… isn’t my room,” Charlie gulped, surveying the modern furniture of a tasteful yet clearly unused bedroom. Something about it felt vaguely familiar, but Charlie was far too encumbered by her banging headache to figure out why she recognized it.

Maybe Lahela just took me to his apartment last night? she thought to herself, trying to explain her new surroundings without considering the more dangerous alternatives as to why she was in an unfamiliar room instead of her own apartment.

Thoughts felt like they were burning into her brain, causing pain with each attempt at deduction. Charlie shook her head, trying to cast off any detective work until she could get her hands on some water.

She opened the bedroom door and stumbled out into a hallway, suddenly aware of her sore limbs and uncomfortable skinny jeans still hugging her body. They were the same ones she’d worn to the bar last night, the extra pair she kept in her locker in case she didn’t feel like wandering back to her apartment in scrubs. Charlie’s stomach lurched as she remembered the locker room…

Landry.

For a moment, the nausea settled in her stomach turned to boiling betrayal. The thought of him made her want to scream and cry at the same time, and her mind battled between wanting to destroy him and wanting to hide from him. She remembered the first time they met, how happy she was to find another nervous intern that was just as obsessed with Dr. Ramsey as she was. She’d instinctively trusted him and could never have imagined that the ambition they shared would ever betray her.

Tears prickled at her eyes, but Charlie willed them back, rationalizing that she was too dehydrated to waste body fluids on him.

Deciding that she didn’t want to think about him anymore, Charlie straightened her spine and navigated the dim hallway to find a glass of water ASAP.

When she exited the hallway, she found herself in the main room of a sprawling apartment. The stunning cityscape glittered back at her through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a lavish living room leading to a chef’s kitchen. All at once, Charlie realized where she was, and her jaw dropped.

No, no, it can’t be- Charlie didn’t even get to finish the thought.

“Good morning, rookie.”

Charlie grimaced, recognizing the voice immediately. Despite herself, she felt a rush of happiness at the sound of her nickname. It sparked months of longing and years of admiration, and she couldn’t fight the way her heart swelled at the mere thought of his presence.

Charlie slowly turned to face the voice and confirm her suspicions.

Ethan Ramsey.

She was in Ethan Ramsey’s apartment, hungover in last night’s clothes with absolutely no memory as to how she ended up in his guest bedroom.

If only the first-year med student fangirling over Ramsey’s textbook could see where she was now…

“Dr. Ramsey,” Charlie swallowed heavily, her skin prickling with embarrassment as she took a few tentative steps towards the kitchen.

Ethan Ramsey had never looked so… human. One week without a job had transformed her hero into an actual human being, and it startled Charlie. His stubble was longer than usual, less carefully groomed that she’d always seen it. His hair was a mess of bedhead, some parts even sticking up, and his sweatpants were rumbled from sleep. Charlie could have spent days in shock over the revelation that the Ethan Ramsey even owned sweatpants, but despite herself, her cheeks flushed as she realized he was only wearing sweatpants. How the hell did a workaholic doctor look like that without a shirt? Terrified she’d start drooling any moment, she averted her gaze to the crossword puzzle in front of him, and a small smile perked at her lips. Of course, he loves crosswords.

“How much do you remember from last night?” Ramsey’s question caught Charlie off guard, and fighting through her hazy hangover brain, she struggled to process the question.

“Nothing,” she admitted solemnly, “Nothing after tequila shots at the bar, at least.”

Under Ethan’s watchful eye, Charlie half-expected a pop quiz for her to demonstrate her deductions and piece together how she ended up here, but Ethan wasn’t her boss anymore. He was no longer the teacher pushing a student towards success. Now… Ethan didn’t know what he was.

A former boss? A knight in shining armor? A creepy former teacher who kept finding himself in compromising situations with an enigmatic intern?

Maybe even a friend?

When he looked at Charlie, it was obvious that she was miserable. Even now, he could smell the hint of tequila on her clothes from a long night of trying to forget her problems, and imagining such a scene caused his heart to squeeze. He could picture her so easily, slumped into a barstool as she desperately tried to forget the decisions she’d made. He’d been there enough to know how she felt… And he suddenly wished he couldn’t picture it. Maybe he could have prevented this. He could have been a better mentor. He could have actually told her what to do instead of forcing her to figure it out as she went along.

He could have stayed.

The thought nearly paralyzed Ethan as he suddenly understood the lingering hurt behind her stare. He’d hadn’t just left Edenbrook. He left Charlie, too.

“What happened last night?” Charlie hesitated, so embarrassed that she almost didn’t want to ask. Charlie had never been one to disappoint. She’d been a stellar student her entire life, always reaching new heights and finding solutions to every problem. Sure, she’d disappointed people along the way, but disappointing Ethan was different. The shame manifested itself deeply, in a way she’d never felt before.

Ethan paused and then reached for the cell phone plugged into a nearby outlet. He handed over her smartphone, and wordlessly, Charlie her text messages to see a brand new text thread.

Oh no… Charlie felt like she might puke as she scrolled through all of the messages she’d sent “Ethan ❤️☠️.”

There were so many messages, each more embarrassing than the last. It went through pages of Charlie drunk texting him about how she’d made new friends in the bar and didn’t need him coming to her rescue. He asked several times where she was, and somehow, Charlie thought of a new way not to tell him. At one point, she even wrote how he “wasn’t even that handsome” unless you’re into the “brooding, sexy thing.” By the time she reached the bottom, Charlie slumped into a barstool at his kitchen island and avoided eye contact like the plague.

“I’m so sorry,” Charlie mumbled, unable to think of anything else to say. If she could have, she would have disappeared.

Ethan couldn’t help but smile, still finding her insincere attempts to insult him funny, and he placed a glass of water in front of her along with a few tablets of ibuprofen.

“It’s okay. I was just happy to be ‘Dr. McSexy to the rescue,’” Ethan couldn’t resist the urge to tease her.

Charlie’s eyes shot to his, desperate to see if he was kidding, and when she realized he wasn’t, she groaned. “I didn’t say that, did I?”

“Only about 5 times,” Ethan shrugged as if it was nothing and couldn’t help but laugh when she winced at the thought.

“Fuck,” Charlie held her head in her hands, “I’m never drinking again.”

Ethan chuckled, nodding to the glass of water, “Drink that. And take the ibuprofen. I can only imagine the hangover you have right now.”

Charlie obeyed, peering up at him curiously, “How did you even find me? I went out of my way to go to a bar in the middle of nowhere to avoid running into people I knew. And it doesn’t seem like I was being very helpful.” Charlie vaguely motioned towards her cell phone.

Honestly, Ethan wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit the lengths he’d gone to to find her. He’d practically searched every bar in Boston before he found her, becoming increasingly concerned when he didn’t see her at every turn. He’d been so scared…

He blocked out the mental image and shrugged instead of answering, “I just found you.”

Charlie watched him, knowing that he was hiding something, but she didn’t push. If she’d learned anything from Dr. Ramsey, it was when not to push him… She’d done it before, and every time, she went home sad and rejected.

“You cried the whole way here…” Ramsey’s voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear it, “I… I wasn’t very good at listening to you before I…” he trailed off, but Charlie could easily finish it – before I left.

“What did I say?” Charlie tried to laugh it off as if they were still talking about her drunken adventure the night before, but they both knew it was more than that.

“You told me that Dr. Emery is investigating you, what Dr. Olsen did, that… I abandoned you when you needed me.” There was shame in Ethan’s voice.

Charlie paused, unsure of how to proceed. She hadn’t dared let herself say that to anyone, not even herself, but now it was out. Now, it existed. Now, Charlie had to admit that, after months of supporting Ethan at every turn, he let her down. He left without ever wondering what it would do to her. He marched right past her as she begged him to stay.

The cold, stinging rejection returned, spreading through her body like wildfire.

Charlie had never wanted anyone to stay like she’d wanted him to. And as her friends circled around her and bolstered her with support, she could never stop thinking about the one person she wanted to be beside her.

“It’s not your job to support me anymore,” Charlie shrugged it off as best she could, putting on an obviously fake brave face, “Hell, it was never really your job anyway.”

“Charlie…” Ethan tried, but she was already getting off the stool.

“I should get going. You’re not paid to deal with annoying interns anymore,” Charlie grabbed her phone, peering around the room to find more of her belongings so that she could leave as soon as possible.

There was a reason why she hadn’t contacted him since he left, and now, she remembered it.

“Charlie, wait,” Ethan stopped her, grabbing her arm, and she froze at the touch. She looked back at him, eyes full of confusion… and hope.

This was it. The moment he could finally say it. He could tell her of all the long nights he’d stayed up thinking about her. All of the times he took the long way in the hospital just to get a glimpse of her. All of the times he’d been proud of her and what she’d achieved. How deeply he hoped she would win the competition just so he could spend more time with her. All of the times he’d almost broken all of the rules for her.

How much he loved her.

But something stopped him. Maybe it was fear of losing her, or maybe it was fear that she loved him, too…

“I’m sorry. You’ve supported me, and I should have supported you,” Ethan swallowed, “You’re a good doctor, but you’re an even better person.”

Charlie’s jaw nearly dropped, and a swell of a familiar euphoria filled her body at his words. She’d never say what it was, though, deep down, she’d always known it was love.

“Thank you.”

Ethan wanted to say so much more, but instead, he released her arm and turned back to the kitchen, pressing a few buttons on the coffee maker to make two cups for the morning. It was a presumptuous move, but honestly, he couldn’t have taken it if she really did rush out of his apartment – and his life – that morning.

“I’m visiting Naveen at his river house today. He’d love to see you,” Ethan glanced up at her, issuing a silent invitation.

“I’m not sure he wants to see someone who smells so distinctly like tequila and mistakes,” Charlie flushed, watching him make the two mugs with warm butterflies in her belly. He wants me to stay, she thought to herself.

“You can use my shower, and I’m sure you can find a change of clothes around here,” Ethan suggested.

“Do you have enough women over to keep a change of clothes for them?” Charlie arched an eyebrow, hoping that the jealousy brewing inside didn’t slip into her voice.

“I meant, one of my tee shirts, Charlie,” Ethan couldn’t shake the smile as he recognized the jealousy in her voice.

“So, I have permission to raid your secret drawer of embarrassing tee shirts?” Charlie was obviously enthused.

“What makes you think I have a secret drawer of embarrassing tee shirts?” Ethan laughed.

“You’re unpredictable, and I personally enjoy the mental image of you in an embarrassing tee shirt,” Charlie insisted.

Ethan cocked an eyebrow, “You enjoy the mental image of Dr. McSexy in an embarrassing tee shirt?”

Charlie groaned, hiding her face as she turned a bright shade of red, “I’ll never live that down.”

Ethan didn’t answer because he knew that he would never forget that, though he honestly doubted that he would ever forget anything about Dr. Charlie Greene…

[megalony]

Diagnosis- Part 2

This is a second part to my single dad! Ben Hardy imagine which gained some lovely feedback.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @jonesyaddiction

Part 1

Ben Hardy masterlist

Enjoy.

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

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ben tried to rid himself of the headache forming behind his eyes that were burning from lack of sleep. All Ben wanted to do was to go home and be with both his girls but it seemed that for the foreseeable future he and Lily would be living in this room. They had been here for three days now and Emily had told Ben she would look after Lola until they were out of the hospital which he appreciated.

The doctor had just dropped off some papers for Ben to read through since he had signed to agree to Lily's operation. Ben still wasn't sure if he was making the right choice but he had signed and he had been reassured that this was the problem that needed to be solved. The papers in his hands were detailing of the operation and what would happen afterwards but everything he had been told was jumbling together in his mind. He couldn't remember what medication Lily was on right now, what they had put her on before but taken her off now and he couldn't register the new meds they would put her on tomorrow.

The papers showed that to remove her pituitary gland they were doing a small scale operation which made him so relieved. Ben had instantly thought they would be going through her skull to get to the gland but the papers showed different. They would cut through the roof of her mouth behind her upper lip and go through her nasal cavity to get to her brain which was easier and less messy or likely to leave a mark. It would only be a two-hour surgery as well which was quicker than he thought.

But Ben couldn't wrap his mind around all of the information he was being overloaded with. There was a list of risks due to Lily's age and the problems she had already gone through. She could have a build-up of fluid, a loss of fluid, haemorrhaging and nose bleeds. Then there were the risks since she would have to be on hormone replacements which were for more than Ben thought possible. The gland controlled hormones for stress and Lily was a panicker which made it worse. She needed oestrogen and other hormones at a specific time for puberty and menstruation which baffled his mind and in order for her to grow, she needed hormones throughout the rest of her life. Not to mention controlling her metabolism.

She was six.

Lily was still a baby in Ben's eyes and her life was going to change and he couldn't do anything but endorse those changes. Ben wanted to protect her but the only thing he could do was let them make her life harder in order to preserve it.

Dumping the papers down on the chair next to him, Ben tipped his head back to try and make the letters and numbers disappear from his mind. He took a few calming breaths before looking to the bed in front of him where Lily was. Ben had signed the consent forms a few hours ago and had talked briefly with the doctor who had booked the operation for first thing in the morning at seven. Lily was still in some form of discomfort from the cist in her pancreas since they couldn't put her on any other medication. She was on blood thinners and one form of painkillers but any more would risk damaging her blood cells so she had to get through the night before she could start feeling better.

Glancing his eyes back to her, Ben felt his lips pulling up into a smile when Lily held her hand out, silently asking him to come sit with her. Pushing himself out of the rather uncomfy chair, Ben moved over the small distance between them so he could sit next to Lily. Letting her take his hand in hers as she closed her eyes, trying to get some sleep. Ben slowly started rubbing his hand over Lily's stomach when she curled up at his side. Her head resting on his stomach as it was clear she wasn't feeling too well.

Ben turned his head to look down at Lily when she tapped his arm after about half an hour. He noticed her almost dozing off a few times before she wriggled around to try and get comfy again, seemingly in either pain or some form of discomfort that was stopping her from being able to sleep.

Looking down at her, Ben leaned his head to the side in question to see if she needed something or just wanted to talk. His eyes narrowed at the way she pressed her lips together like she did when she was nervous, her eyes glancing down before back up to Ben. Clearly worried about what she had to tell him which made Ben's heartbeat increase. Lily rested her chin on Ben's stomach, her hand grasping his shirt as she looked like she was going to cry.

"Daddy?" Ben hummed in response, his expression gentle to try and encourage her to talk to him. "I think I wet the bed." Lily looked down as she spoke, her eyes finally glanced up to Ben as if to see if he was mad at her. There was still a small smile on Ben's lips as he slowly pushed himself so he was sitting up, moving to press a kiss to Lily's temple to show her that he wasn't mad. Her cheeks were tainted red as she looked down at her hands, embarrassed since she hadn't had this happen for a while now.

"S'alright sweetheart, nothing to worry about." Ben smiled reassuringly, about to move from the bed but he stopped when he caught sight of something out the corner of his eye. Grabbing the edge of the cover, Ben pulled it back as his eyes widened in fear. His frame turned rigid when he locked his gaze onto the sheets.

Lily hadn't wet the bed, she was bleeding.

Reaching his hand out Ben quickly pressed the emergency button, not being quick enough to move the cover back before Lily noticed what had made him turn three shades whiter. The actor watched her eyes widen in terror before her lower lip wobbled and released a guttural sob. She didn't feel anything else but her stomach hurting, she didn't feel like she was suddenly bleeding out like this. Her face buried into Ben's stomach as she clung to him for dear life, her tears and cries soaking into his shirt making him shiver. He ran his hand through her hair as his other arm wrapped around her waist to keep her tucked to his side.

"Sshh-"

"Am I dying?" Lily whimpered the words before another tidal wave of tears flooded her features. Ben tightened his arms around her as he fought off tears himself. He couldn't have Lily thinking that because it was going to distress and upset her. No child should think that and this was just something else going slightly wrong. In the morning she would have her operation and she would be getting better.

"No sweetheart. You're just not feeling very well that's all, tomorrow you'll be better." Ben tried not to sound too stern but it felt like he was trying to convince both of them instead of just Lily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ben frowned at the words that passed through the doctor's lips when they were stood outside of the room when Lily was being treated by one of the nurses. Ben had sat with her until she calmed down and the doctor asked for a word outside but the actor shook his head in disbelief at the words he had just heard. His hand brushed over his lips and jaw as his other hand dug into his hip to try and calm himself down but it wasn't working.

"She's six years old! She doesn't know what a period is." Ben sighed the words as he almost whined.

Lily thought she was dying and even Ben had thought for a brief moment that maybe that was going to be a possibility but he had just been told that it was nothing of the sort. She wasn't having some kind of haemorrhage or organ failure or anything along those lines.

"Her gland is producing too many hormones that are sending signals everywhere. Some of those hormones are menstrual ones which is why she's experiencing a cycle now. We're giving her some hormones to cancel out the menstruation but it will be best to drain some more blood, menstruation makes the blood clot and thicker so we risk another stroke if we don't."

Ben couldn't help but let the tears fall from his eyes. Lily didn't know what a period was and she shouldn't have to know or worry about that for another five to six years or even more. She was half the age of when she should start to get her period, she wouldn't understand it. Ben didn't want to have that conversation with her now, he shouldn't have to have that talk with her yet because she was so young. Yet here she was worrying that she was dying because her body was deciding that she should grow up too soon. Giving her heart problems, a stroke, a cist and now a period when she wasn't grown up enough for this.

"Do whatever you have to just... make sure she's okay."

One night.

Ben just needed Lily to get through this one night because then she would be okay in the morning when she'd had her operation. He needed his little girl to be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Hey baby, how you feeling?" Ben spoke quietly, his tone gentle as he had a few tears glistening in his eyes. The doctor had informed him that the bleeding last night showed this was her pituitary gland that was the problem which had reassured Ben that the operation was the right thing to help her. Lily would have a blood test tomorrow and if it showed her blood was going back to normal then she would be getting better. And if no more cists appeared in her system then she would be in the clear.

When her blood was back to normal and she was recovered they could give Lily a different type of medication to get rid of the cist in her pancreas.

Moving his hand, Ben gently brushed his right hand through Lily's hair as his other held her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. The surgery had been just over two hours and he had spent the next hour waiting beside Lily's bed for her to wake up. When her hand clumsily hit at the oxygen mask over her lips and nose, Ben helped to remove it since she was breathing fine and it was only a precaution.

A small groan escaped Lily's lips as a strangled noise followed when she realised she couldn't breathe through her nose which was a normality for her when she slept. Her free hand slowly moved up to touch her nose which crinkled from the numbness that made it feel weird and larger to the touch. The little girl wheezed and coughed, trying to blow air out of her nose but it wasn't working making her frustrated. Lily's eyes weakly opened and adjusted to the dim lights of the room as she prodded at her nose until Ben clamped his hand around her own to stop her.

"Don't do that baby, you've got cotton in your nose so your nose can heal and to stop it from bleeding. You won't have it for long."

They had cut through the roof of her mouth which was now all stitched up but the nasal cavity leading to her brain was slightly enlarged so they could get to her pituitary gland. That needed to heal and the packing in her nose stopped any minor haemorrhaging or little nose bleeds which were bound to happen. Ben knew Lily wouldn't like the feeling and it would be irritable but scratching would make it worse and move the packaging that was like solid clay in her nose.

A whine passed through Lily's lips at the horrible feeling that made her want to gag. It was like the worst blocked nose she had ever had but with some sort of hardened stuff clogging her sinuses instead.

"Daddy... what...?" Lily croaked, leaving Ben unsure what she was asking until she moved her hand and pressed her finger to the roof of her mouth after her tongue had brushed over something that she knew wasn't there before. Tilting her chin Ben peered into her mouth to see the stitches, the incision hadn't been large which was lucky, she only had about three stitches. The doctor told Ben they would dissolve when the cut had healed which would be a week or less.

"That's your stitches sweetheart, they'll go in a week. We'll be able to go home in four days, you go to sleep baby, I won't go anywhere." As long as Lily's tests showed improvement then Ben could take her home soon and then he could talk to the doctors about the hormone treatment later. For now Lily could hardly keep her eyes open, the best thing for her would be to go to sleep and wait for the anaesthetic to wear out of her system.

Letting go of her hand, Ben went back to brushing his hand through her hair, kissing her temple when she closed her eyes.

She was going to be okay.

[gratsustingue-the-ot4]

Stinggratsu with angst prompt #42...?

Anonymous said:  If you’re still accepting Angst/Fluff prompts, how about: “I wanted to apologize.”?

I got both prompts into one fic, hope you enjoy! 

you are the best thing that’s ever been mineauthor: @splendidlyimperfect

Gray’s having a bad day, and Natsu’s music choices are making it worse.

—–

Natsu kicks Rogue in the shin as the front door of the apartment opens.

“Shhh,” he whispers, pulling the duvet up over both of them. “He won’t sing if he thinks we’re awake.”

Rogue frowns at Natsu but closes his eyes, and Natsu tucks his arm under his pillow and settles into a pretend sleep.

The bedroom door creaks open and Natsu hears Sting step into the room, humming quietly under his breath. The smell of fresh laundry hits Natsu as Sting sets the basket down on the end of the bed, then starts to pull things out and fold them.

Rogue twitches next to Natsu and Sting stops humming momentarily, but when neither of them moves again, he picks it back up. It starts off as just a jumble of notes, but eventually he starts singing the words under his breath, and Natsu recognizes it as a Taylor Swift song that Sting’s particularly fond of.

Natsu can barely keep a smile from creeping across his face as Sting’s singing gets a bit louder. His voice isn’t entirely in key, but Natsu loves the way he sounds. It’s sweet and happy, and when Natsu hears Sting change one of the lines to fit Gray’s name in, Natsu nearly cries.

Gray told me I was pretty when I looked like a messtoday was a fairytaletime slows down whenever he’s around

When Natsu hears Sting move away from the bed he cracks an eye open, holding in a fond sigh as he watches Sting dance over toward the closet. Sting keeps humming and singing, switching to a new song as he hangs Rogue’s dress shirts.

It must have been the way Rogue kissed mefell in love when I saw him standing there

When he turns back to the bed Natsu barely closes his eyes in time, and Sting’s quiet for a second. Natsu tries his best to keep his breathing even – he’s had lots of practice with it. Sting only sings when he thinks everyone’s asleep or nobody is home, so Natsu sneaks in these moments whenever he can.

Eventually Sting grabs the rest of the laundry and starts tucking it into their dresser as he picks up with a new song.

Well, he drives me crazy half the timethe other half I’m only tryingto let him know that what I feel is trueand I’m only me when I’m with Natsu

Natsu can’t help the tiny, adoring sound he makes when he hears his name, and Sting immediately stops singing. A balled-up sock hits Natsu on the side of the head and he pretends to grumble, opening his eyes and rubbing his face.

“Mornin’,” he says to Sting, sitting up and nudging Rogue, who also rolls over and fakes just having woken up. “What’cha doin’?”

“Your laundry,” Sting says, deftly catching the socks as Natsu tosses them back at him. “You really need to start checking your pockets for glitter before tossing stuff in the washing machine.” He holds out one of Gray’s dress sweaters that is now much more sparkly than it had been before laundry day.

“Oops.” Natsu makes a face.

“Where is Gray, anyway?” Rogue asks, kicking off the blankets and grabbing his phone off the end table.

“He left early for work,” Sting says, tucking the last of the shirts in the drawer and nudging it closed with his shin. He tosses the laundry basket back in the corner of the room and is about to head out into the kitchen when Natsu catches him by the wrist.

“C’mere,” Natsu says, tugging Sting toward him. He sits up on the edge of the bed and wraps his arms around Sting’s waist, resting his head on Sting’s stomach and kissing just above his bellybutton.

“What’s up?” Sting asks softly, brushing his fingers through Natsu’s hair. Natsu’s tempted to tell Sting that he wasn’t asleep, tell him that he’s sweet and perfect and Natsu would listen to him sing every day for the rest of his life. But Sting would turn pink and make excuses and stop humming sweet things for Natsu to wake up to every day.

“Nothin’,” Natsu says instead, sighing happily as Rogue leans against him and joins the embrace. “Just love you.”

~

Natsu’s still got Taylor Swift stuck in his head when he picks up Gray from work, so he flips to his favorite playlist while he’s waiting in the parking lot. They both work late today, so the streetlights are already on and are reflecting off the tiny drops of rain clinging to the windshield. The wipers move in time to the beat of the music, and Natsu taps the steering wheel as he hums along.

The passenger door finally opens nearly twenty minutes after Gray’s supposed to meet him. “Sorry,” Gray says, shaking the rain out of his hair and shooting Natsu an apologetic look. “I had to show Chad how to run the reports ‘cause Abby’s out of the office next week.”

“’s okay,” Natsu says, leaning over and kissing Gray’s cheek. “You hungry? Rogue just texted, he’s making chicken biryani for supper.”

Gray makes a noncommittal sound, tipping his head against the window as Natsu squeezes his hand, then puts the car into ‘drive’ and heads out of the parking lot. It’s not uncommon for Gray to be reserved after work – it takes him a lot longer than Natsu to decompress.

Natsu flicks on the blinker and merges onto the highway, taking the familiar route without thinking about it. The rain is louder now that they’re moving, and Natsu turns up the music so he can sing along.

“Why are you so obsessed with Taylor Swift?” Gray asks, leaning against the door and looking over at Natsu.

“I’m not!” Natsu insists. “Her music is just catchy.”

Gray rolls his eyes. “Her lyrics appeal to seventeen-year-old girls who just got dumped by their first boyfriend,” he says.

“The fact that you know that implies that you listen to her music just as much as I do,” Natsu says smugly, sticking his tongue out at Gray and turning the music up.

“I do not,” Gray mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s obnoxious. Can we please listen to something else?”

Natsu sighs but acquiesces, gesturing for Gray to pick another playlist. “I’m not listening to your boring history podcast, though,” he says. Gray hmphs and switches to classical music, then settles back into his seat.

“Y’know what I think?” Natsu asks as the sound of piano music fills the car. Gray doesn’t answer. “I think you pretend not to like Taylor Swift ‘cause she makes you feel things and you hate it.” He grins and pokes Gray’s thigh.

“Shut up,” Gray grumbles, smacking Natsu’s hand away.

“Ooh,” Natsu teases, “truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Just drive the damn car,” Gray snaps, and suddenly there’s more than just exasperation in his voice. Natsu frowns, looking over at him, but Gray refuses to make eye contact.

“Hey,” Natsu starts, but Gray shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he says softly. “Let’s just go home.” 

~

Walking into the apartment is always a whirlwind – kisses from Sting, plaintive meows from the cats trying to trick someone into feeding them a second time, Rogue reminding Natsu to put his shoes on the rack and not kick them in a pile by the door. By the time Natsu sits down at the kitchen table, he’s nearly forgotten the exchange in the car.

“Where’s Gray?” Rogue asks, frowning as he hands Natsu a plate.

“Bedroom,” Sting says around a mouthful of bread. “Said he had a headache and he’ll eat later.”

Natsu frowns, glancing down the hallway. “When’s the last time you guys saw him eat?” he asks.

Rogue pops back into the kitchen and opens the fridge, then looks back at Natsu, shaking his head. “He didn’t eat his lunch,” he says.

“He left so early this morning, I don’t think he had breakfast either,” Sting says, brow creasing in concern. “You think he’s getting sick?”

Natsu sighs. “Yeah,” he says, setting down the plate and pushing his chair away from the table. “I think he is.”

~

The bedroom is dark, and when Natsu turns on the lamp on the side table, there’s a grumbled protest from somewhere in the middle of the duvet. Natsu kicks off his jeans, then pulls the blanket back and shuffles under it until he’s close to Gray but not quite touching.

“Hey, you,” he says gently. Gray’s curled up with a pillow against his chest and his eyes squeezed shut. Natsu’s pretty sure he’s been crying.

“I have a headache,” Gray says without opening his eyes.

“Gray.” Natsu reaches out and brushes his fingers gently over the back of Gray’s forearm. “C’mon, love. You don’t have to pretend.”

Gray doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t pull away either. He sighs, pressing his face against the pillow.

“When was the last time you ate?” Natsu asks. Gray shrugs and Natsu slides his hand up Gray’s arm. It takes a second for Gray to relax his grip on the pillow enough to let Natsu slide their fingers together.

They lie in silence for a while, and eventually Gray shifts a tiny bit closer to Natsu. It’s almost imperceptible, but Natsu knows it’s Gray giving him permission.

“C’mere,” he says, reaching out and pulling Gray into his arms. He kisses Gray’s forehead as Gray lets out a shaky breath and relaxes against him.

Gray’s quiet for a bit, and eventually whispers, “why do you stay?”

Natsu swears he can feel his heart breaking. “Gray,” he whispers, pressing his face into Gray’s hair and holding him tight. “How can you even ask that?”

Gray sniffs, rubbing his face. “I just—you’re all better.” His voice breaks on the last word. “Sting’s sweet a-and Rogue’s smart and th-thoughtful, and you’re… you’re you. And I’m n-not, and I just—my brain is stupid and even when I take my meds it doesn’t always work and I’m grumpy and tired and—”

“Gray.” Natsu interrupts him gently, running his hand down Gray’s back. “I know you’re feeling shitty right now, and I know that sucks, but we all love you so, so much.”

“Why?” Gray asks, pain and frustration clear in his voice. “I don’t understand. I’m always gonna be like this and I hate it.”

“And that’s okay,” Natsu says, voice almost pleading. He pulls back and tips Gray’s chin up. “I’ve loved you for a long, long time and that’s never gonna stop. You’re a part of me, in here—” he takes Gray’s hand and places it on his chest “—and nothing can change that. Nothing.”

Gray’s face crumples and he sniffs as Natsu pulls him close again. “When I was teasing you in the car,” Natsu says, “that probably didn’t help if you’re feeling like this, hey?” Gray shakes his head and Natsu sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“’s not your fault,” Gray mumbles into Natsu’s shirt. “You’re right. I suck at feelings.”

Natsu’s about to argue, but he knows it’s futile. Gray’s always struggled with expressing himself, and telling him that it’s not true isn’t going to help. Instead, Natsu combs his fingers through Gray’s hair and asks, “did the song we were listening to make you feel sad?” Gray exhales and nods against Natsu’s chest. “And you shut it off because you don’t wanna let yourself feel sad.”

“I just…” Gray sighs in frustration, cuddling closer to Natsu. “It’s stupid.”

“I doubt that.”

“I do know all the words,” Gray admits. “I listened to that song a lot when we broke up.”

The statement takes Natsu by surprise. They’ve been together for so long – even before Sting and Rogue – that their temporary breakup feels like forever ago. They’d both been young and scared and overwhelmed by their feelings for each other, and it had taken nearly six months for them to drift back into each other’s orbit and stay there.

“I missed you so much,” Gray says quietly. “I thought—sometimes I worried that you left because I was too much. I know I left too, but I’d been…” He gestures vaguely at himself. “Like this, I guess, before it. And I felt like I’d ruined things.”

“Oh, love,” Natsu murmurs. “No, never. You were never too much. You’ll never be too much.”

“What if Rogue and Sting don’t feel that way?” Gray whispers. “What if they don’t wanna deal with me anymore?”

Natsu’s chest aches, and he’s tempted to call out for the other two so they can come and cuddle Gray and tell him he’s wrong; that they’re never going to leave. He’s not sure that’s what Gray needs right now, though.

“They love you,” he says instead. “Just like this, for who you are. Your brain works differently, and that’s not your fault, remember?” Gray huffs. “Think about Sting,” Natsu adds. “How many anxiety attacks has he had since we’ve known him? Since we’ve been together, even?”

“Lots,” Gray concedes.

“And are you tired of him?”

“Never.” Gray’s voice is so full of conviction, and Natsu can hear tears on the edge of it. “No, I’d never—I love him so much and it’s not his fault. He…” Gray trails off. “Oh.”

Natsu lets the realization sink in before he says, “you don’t have to pretend. You’re not a burden or broken, and you can always talk to us when you don’t feel right.”

Gray doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arm around Natsu’s waist. Natsu thinks back to the song they were listening to in the car and starts to hum it quietly. Gray tenses, but Natsu keeps playing with his hair until he relaxes again.

“I’ve got you,” Natsu murmurs. “It’s okay to not be okay.”  

~

They fall asleep not long after, tangled together and breathing in tandem. Natsu wakes at one point when Sting and Rogue come to bed, both kissing him before settling down on the other end of the bed to give him and Gray space.

When Natsu drags himself out of sleep the next morning, the first thing he notices is that Gray isn’t beside him anymore. Instead, Rogue’s curled up behind him with an arm thrown over his stomach. The second thing is that Sting is singing again, and it immediately brings a smile to Natsu’s face.

He cracks an eye open, hoping Sting won’t notice him, but Sting isn’t up and moving around like yesterday. He’s still lying on the bed, propped up on a pillow with Gray resting on his chest. Gray looks like he’s still half-asleep, but Sting’s holding his hand and is kissing Gray’s fingers between lines of the song. It’s the one that Gray had turned off yesterday in the car.

You put up walls and paint them all a shade of greyand I stood there loving you and wished them all awayand you come away with a great little storyof a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you

Natsu reaches down and rests his hand over Rogue’s, smiling when Rogue stirs and presses a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. Sting looks up, cheeks turning pink when he realizes Natsu’s listening, but he doesn’t stop singing.

When the song’s over, Sting kisses Gray’s forehead and Gray makes a sleepy sound, snuggling closer to him. Natsu reaches out and runs his hand up Gray’s back.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

Gray looks like he’s about to pretend he’s fine, but instead he looks at Natsu and quietly replies, “still sad.”

Natsu shuffles forward with Rogue until all four of them are touching. Then he grabs Gray’s hand and squeezes.

“You can be sad if you need to be,” he says, resting his forehead on Gray’s shoulder, “and we’ll be right here with you while you feel that.”

[gaasaku-fanfests]

Misfits (part 7 & 8)

Title: Misfits Author: clem-chan Rating: T Word Count: 27 388 Summary: Marrying a CEO in the midst of a romantic scandal to pay for med school is not the happy ending Sakura imagined for herself. The arrangement that started as constant bickering soon becomes so much more… If only her husband was hers to fall in love with. GaaSaku. Modern!AU Warnings: There is a light make-out session hence the T rating. There’s also mention of child abuse and childhood trauma. Minor ships: light KankuKiba, very light ShikaTema, mention of NejiTen.

Author’s Note(s): Two little things to mention: First, I wanted to keep this accessible to all, so I have cut out more raunchy scenes which will be posted in the AO3 version of this fic soon. Second, I have this headcannon where Gaara and Sakura are just two misfits. :P So, that’s what this story is about: two misfits forced together. XD Hope you enjoy it! ^_^

Trope: Arranged Marriage

. [warnings are for overall fanfic, not individual parts.]

PART 7

It all went wrong.

Breathlessly, Sakura pulled at her gloves. They snapped. They ripped. They clung to her moist skin. She balled the gloves in a numb fist.

"Call it," her attending said with blanched lips.

It was an unexpected death. A rushed one. An exhausting haunting one that shook the bed with desperate procedures, a cardiac massage that came too late. They had rocked the body in an awkward position to intubate.

The throat had refused the intrusion, the lungs collapsed, the muscles too rigid for it to pass.

The tube now rested on her chest.

"Sakura!" the doctor repeated exasperated. "Call it."

The attending tore her mask from her face and sank down on a stool.

"5:37, patient is dead," Sakura replied coldly, and she exited the room.

No one stopped her.

She jogged, she ran, she walked, pieces of her scattered across the hospital. She was the angry yelling doctor in the ER giving a cardiac massage to a bleeding young woman. She was the nervous doctor counting the litres of blood loss. She was the drained, devastated doctor staring at a cadaver.

5:37.

She tore her scrub from her body in the locker room. Gulps of air jagged inside of her throat, jumbled broken glass from a car crash. She still felt the heartbeat of the woman pulsing on her skin, the breaking of ribs as she pressed her hands to bring back.

To pump blood to the brain.

Crack.

Crack.

Two broken ribs.

Maybe she was broken.

'You don't belong here,' a voice hissed, sweet venom, and she held her head in her hands, ventilating. If not here, where? Where did she belong?

Squared shoulders, was it? Straight back or bent, curled ball of pain? Chin up. What was up? God?

Sakura slammed her locker shut. She kicked toward it, choking on burning tears. Her mind raced through what the procedures, ashen skin turning blue from lack of oxygen.

She closed her eyes.

Where did she go wrong?

-X-

"You're home," Gaara said flatly from the kitchen island, and glanced at his watch. "I was about to order food. What do you want?" He flipped the menu on the other side, his eyes scanning across the other items. "Shrimp?"

She emerged from the entrance silently, her eyes unseeing.

"I'm getting ramen. Miso broth. Pick whatever you want," Gaara frowned, his eyes still running across the choices on the menu. "Hn. Pickled vegetables. Do you want some?"

"Don't talk to me right now," Sakura said and brushed by him.

The stairs didn't creak under her weight.

She was a ghost.

She floated.

She didn't belong.

Gaara watched her disappear, his brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to shout after her, but his phone rang. The name of his grandmother flashed on the screen. He glanced at the staircase one more time, before answering his phone, a low growl building in his chest.

"Obaasan, how are you?"

"Enough with the niceties and barely veiled annoyance."

Gaara grimaced at his grandmother's tone.

"Hn."

"Listen, is Sakura home?"

"Yes."

"Is she alright?"

Gaara cocked his head to the side, squinting at the menu in front of him.

"Hn."

Chiyo sighed.

"You take care of her, Gaara. Is that clear? The first one is always the hardest."

"The first what?"

"First death," Chiyo said irritably. "My first was during the war."

Gaara shifted uneasily. He switched his phone to his other ear. He wondered if she was thinking about them too, the scars on his back, his father's blame for his mother's death. He tapped on finger on the counter, filling the silence.

"Hn."

"It was with your grandfather!"

"What?" Gaara snapped.

Chiyo cackled.

She laughed the same way she did when they went to live with her. She pulled pranks on them. Temari would frown. Gaara wouldn't move. Kankuro... Kankuro was the only one who would laugh.

"We were surrounded by death. No big deal," Chiyo said merrily. "Next time answer your phone properly, or I have other stories..."

"Goodnight, obaasan," Gaara said.

His throat, his chest were tight.

"But I'm not done!" She shouted in a high-pitched voice, and Gaara winced.

"Yes?"

She cleared her throat.

"Yes, obaasan?" he repeated, his jaw clenched.

"Give Sakura a hug, you hear?"

"Yes, obaasan."

"Then give me great-grandchildren," she ordered.

"I-I..."

She laughed hysterically.

"Send me a photo of your face right now!"

"No," he said gruffly.

"Good night, boy!"

"Goodnight, obaasan," Gaara replied dutifully.

When he hung up, his grandmother was still laughing.

Nonchalantly, he let his phone slid down on the counter.

Everything would be different if he had laughed like Kankuro back. Despite the scars, monster spelled across his back. Despite the constant nagging fear that somehow his father would come back.

Gaara turned back toward the staircase, the sound of running water akin to rain dripping on the windows. He was troubled, his body stiffened, and always the sound of his grandmother's laughter barely muffling the sound of death and whipped belt.

Gaara pressed his phone to his ear again, and his finger hovered around Temari's name. Then, scrolled down to Kankuro's phone. He shook his head. They never discussed their father.

He dialled the number of the restaurant.

He glanced at his watch, its ticks offering him a structure that didn't bend with impromptu violence. He ordered food for the two of them, but his dull voice had an edge.

While Gaara waited, he paced in the living room. The sound of water still rustled upstairs. He ran a hand through his hair. He tapped his forehead. Love. He would love no one but himself he had vowed then. He lowered his hands on his hips.

The water still rushed.

After 30 minutes, the food was delivered by a scrawny teenager with widened eyes. He held back his hand with the extra bills in them.

"That much tip? O-san, are you sure?"

"Hn."

Gaara closed the door without answering, and brought the food back to the kitchen. He looked up again at the staircase, the water padding constantly on tiles, a loaded muted sound.

He looked at his watch.

It had been over 43 minutes.

He dashed up the stairs.

He hesitated in front of the bathroom door, his palms moist. He knocked weakly, once.

"Sakura..." Gaara winced at the sound of his voice. "Obaasan called... Can you come out? There's also food."

She didn't answer.

"You need to help me," he muttered dry-mouthed. "I don't know what to do..."

"I can't right now," she whispered.

"You need to tell what's the right thing to do right now," he insisted, his eyes wildly drifting across the hallway, toward their studies, their bedroom. "You're upset. I ordered ice cream... and ramen. Some tempura shrimps..."

The water stopped, and relief flooded through him.

She opened the door, her face drawn. Her wet clothes stuck to her skin, her face blotched, with darkened heavy pink locks irritating the back of her neck.

"I'm fine," she said, her lips barely moving.

"You look horrible."

Sakura made a movement back into the bathroom, but he grabbed her arm. He pulled her to him, one hand on the back of her head, the other still on her arm.

"What are you-" she shouted her voice muffled by his shirt.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Gaara grunted.

Sakura breathed heavily against him, her heart beating violently against his ribcage. Hesitantly, he pressed his cheek to the side of her head. It felt wrong, his too long limbs flailing helplessly around her, her too small frame wetly slipping through him.

Gaara shivered against her, cold, water dripping on the floor.

"I really don't know... what I'm doing," he repeated and his lips brushed against her pink locks.

He released her arm, his arm moving to circle her waist instead.

Her nails dug into him.

'Was that better,' he meant to ask. 'Do we fit now?'

She shuddered.

She exploded.

She cried noisily.

She beat at his chest, and he winced, absorbing the impact. Absorbing her. His arms tightened around her. Now, they fitted; raw angles, and muffled screams. He closed his eyes, fingers holding her skull in place.

When she calmed down, Sakura gently pushed back against his chest. He let her, watching her face, tentatively letting his arms slide to her waist. She looked at his wrinkled and moist shirt.

"Take it off," she muttered tiredly. "I'll wash it with my scrub."

"Don't worry about it," he said and stepped away from her completely letting her go.

"Are you shy right now?" Sakura laughed nervously, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I've just made a complete fool of myself... I've seen a man's chest before, just give me the shirt."

Gaara avoided her stare, he avoided her touch. His sharp features faded into blur lines, absent, distracted tics that reshaped his mouth.

"The food is getting cold," he replied uneasily, and he glanced down at his wet shirt.

"I'm not sure I can eat..." she frowned, and rubbed at her eyelids, pinched the bridge of her noise, until her face felt once more like her own. "You really should let me wash-"

"Let's just eat," he said stiffly and he turned away from her, going down the stairs without a glance back.

Sakura watched the back of his head, petrified, one arm over her chest.

They moved like a pendulum, in and out of reach, little and big hands chasing one another, but only meeting at certain time.

She felt the loss of him, cruelly, her skin still buzzing with his warmth.

She snapped out of it. Out of him, her nails digging into her arms. They didn't even like each other.

"You're always so bossy," she shouted after him.

Gaara snorted.

"You're also bossy," he muttered under his breath.

She followed him, rolling her eyes, her steps heavier, outgrowing the shell, the ghost. Death and its icy fingers.

Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up, she joined him.

-X-

On Saturday, Sakura arrived too early at the restaurant.

Temari briskly dropped her purse on the seat next to her. She inclined her head, as if greeting her, but her smile bit, her eyes sharp with disdain. Sakura bowed her head, her lips pinched and she reached for her glass of water to occupy herself.

"Do you want to be part of this family?" Temari asked softly, and she laced her fingers together on the table, as she leaned back against the chair.

"I am part of this family," Sakura gritted her teeth.

Her gaze flickered across the tables and the entrance looking for Gaara or Shikamaru. She always arrived too early.

"We both know that's not true," Temari smiled, hollow, her lips barely curling, frozen in place.

"What do you want from me?"

Temari sighed and looked away from her. She waved at the waiter and he hurried bringing her the menu.

"Coffee. Bring me rose water too," Temari ordered and she glanced briefly at Sakura. "What about you?"

"I'll have the same," Sakura said coldly, and they glared back at each other.

Once the waiter had gone, Temari inclined her head again as if deep in thought.

"Make him change his mind about the company he's bought before he ruins everything he's built."

"What?" Sakura startled.

"The company he bought..." Temari said slowly as she would to a child. "It's near bankruptcy. Gaara wants to release a new product to save it, but it's still a suicide mission. Convince him to let it go."

Before she could answer, Gaara appeared, and the coffee arrived. Petrified, Sakura watched the waiter poured her coffee from a traditional pot of silver and brass. 'She had planned the perfect moment,' Sakura understood.

Maybe they were two misfits, Gaara and her, she wondered silently watching him.

They were played.

They were forced into place, dolls that needed to conform.

And they had nothing to fill their house.

-X-

After brunch, Sakura and Gaara walked back to his car in silence. The sun scorched the sidewalk, chasing them in reflective windows. Sweat gathered at her temples, but Gaara appeared unfazed by the heat in his suit.

When they reached the car, Sakura turned to him, biting her lip.

"Why do you hate him?"

"Who?" Gaara asked and he unlocked the doors.

"Shikamaru-san," she said and his shoulders tensed.

His palm lightly hit the top of the car, his eyes gleaming, and his face shifted, carved out of shadows. Stubbornly, he stared at her, his lips set in a grim line.

"You like Kiba and he's with one of your siblings' boyfriend too," Sakura added.

"I tolerate Kiba," Gaara said darkly, "because he's not a selfish prick who demands sacrifices from Kankuro."

"It bothers you that she's moving," Sakura said softly.

He nodded stiffly.

"Her place is here with her family, not with his."

"They are each other's family too."

"Blood is thicker than water," Gaara barked. "He's replaceable. We're not."

"Gaara…"

"Let's go," he ordered and he tapped the top of the car with more force.

He opened his car door.

"I liked him," Sakura said, and she didn't move. It was their first real conversation since they got married. She couldn't, she wouldn't let it go. She balled her fists, straighten her back, her gaze frank and unflinching when it found his pale icy one.

"I thought he was smart," she thrusted her chin forward, her jaw locked.

"My sister is smarter than him," Gaara said gruffly.

"Then, you should trust she knows what she's doing," Sakura said patiently.

"I do, but I don't have to like him until she comes to her senses."

"I think she thinks the same as you but about me. She's probably thinking: He'll come to his senses and divorce her."

Sakura bit her below lip. He shifted uneasily, glancing at his watch, even if he didn't work on Saturdays, and he had no schedule to excuse himself.

"She was our mother and our sister at once. Don't mind her. She's overprotective."

"You all are overprotective of each other," Sakura shrugged, and glanced away, holding back her locks from her face as the wind blew sharply.

"They are your siblings too now."

She smiled, crookedly, coldly.

"Don't fake smile at me."

Her smile dropped, disregarded easily.

She balled her fists on her hips, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Then, don't be cheesy," Sakura snapped and pointed at the passenger door. "Your sister says the driver opens that door."

"I'm driving," Gaara frowned. "There's no driver."

"You understood me perfectly."

Sighing, Gaara circled the car and reached past her to open the door. He moved closer to her, and she felt the heat of him, the weight of his stare devouring her flushed face. She gulped. He leaned in, so their faces were on the same level.

"There are times, Sakura... There really are times..." Gaara shook his head, and stepped back. "I wish you'd like me."

Stunned, Sakura remained by the passenger's door. She grazed her burning cheek, clearing her throat, as he slammed the driver's door.

He started the car.

"Are you getting in?" Gaara asked flatly, leaning toward the passenger's seat to look at her.

Sakura nodded rapidly, agitatedly, and climbed up next to him.

***

PART 8

"You did something very unusual by buying this company, Gaara-sama... Rival business groups such as Uchiha Inc has called your move quote unquote: "demented." How do you answer to these comments?"

The camera zoomed in on Gaara's face.

"I would rather be demented than a monster for letting them die."

-X-

The interview had gutted Gaara.

The red light of the camera followed him, blinking behind his eyelids. The same questions had rotated toward him, phrased differently, aimed to make him lose face, say something he shouldn't. It didn't matter that he had a business plan. His actions were still perceived as weak; companies near bankruptcy shouldn't be bought out and saved.

He had only wanted to save a family.

He wanted to be alone.

He didn't want to be alone.

Sakura breathed softly, half-asleep, when Gaara slipped in the room. He blinked, momentarily lost. The bedroom was full of her, the rhythm of her breathing, her floral scent clinging to him.  

Gaara sank in the darkness of the bedroom, feeling blindly for the bed. He flinched, his fingers slowly pulling at his collar. He passed his t-shirt over his head. Silently, he slid under the covers to lie down on the bed.

He closed his eyes, one arm over his forehead.

"Gaara?" Sakura mumbled, her head raising from her pillow.

"I had a long day. I don't want to fight," he said quietly.

The bed sheets taut over him, then briskly slipped and exposed his feet, as she rolled toward him.

"I watched your interview," she whispered.

Gaara turned his head toward her.

Her hair was softly tossed around her pillow, one lock curling beneath her chin. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the darkness, drifting across the solid shape of him next to her. Sakura bit her below lip, one of her arms holding the bed sheets over her chest.

She glanced away from him.

"Well, not all of it," Sakura laughed faintly, her fingers playing with the pillow case, "I was working, but I caught glimpses. You did well."

"Hn."

Sakura smiled and she turned her back to him.

"Good night," she whispered, and he looked up at the ceiling. The fan turned, soundlessly, the moving paddles hypnotizing as it brushed air toward them.

"'Night," he answered absent-mindedly.

Sakura pursued her lips.

Gaara didn't move.

He projected an uneven shadow on the wall she faced, swallowing her petite form. She shut her eyes tightly, uneasiness clawing at her insides.

She couldn't ignore him.

She roughly pushed back the bed sheets. He raised an eyebrow at her as she rolled back toward him.

"I don't want to fight."

"I know..."

Slowly, Sakura lowered her head to his chest. She could hear his heart pound. He tensed. She began to pull away, but his arm snaked around her, roughly holding her against his chest.

"Don't move, please"

"Okay."

"Okay," he echoed.

Gaara readjusted the bed sheets over them.

Sakura shifted her head, until it rested more comfortably against his chest. Tentatively, her arms circled him. She startled. He froze. Her fingers brushed again against the deep gash of uneven flesh.

"Don't ask, please."

"Okay."

"Okay," he echoed, and sighed, and his hand fell over her neck, grazing her nape, sinking into her soft hair.

He mirrored her touch. Halting, exploring, their heart beating restlessly, skin pressed against skin.

Sakura fell asleep after some time, her body leaning, sinking heavily across him.

He didn't sleep, terrified she would vanish. Terrified she would wake up and they would bicker again. And he would feel like she could never like nor love him.

She snuggled closer to him, her breath hot against his neck.

She was his wife, not a stranger, not a shapeless monster from his childhood – an uncle that feared him or a father that hated him – so why couldn't he sleep?

Why was he still afraid of the darkness?

-X-

The examination room whirred with the sound of the fan, the heat, the sun violently crushing her. Sakura wiped at her forehead, still frowning over the medical history of the patient. She was a blond plump woman, dressed in a suit that was taut around her frame. She played with her sunglasses, watching her with a vague smile.

"When did the pain start?" Sakura asked gently, and she dropped the file back on her desk.

She rubbed her hands with disinfecting gel before she walked to the patient with a reassuring smile.  

"Hmm... Two days again," the woman replied and she let Sakura feel for swelling below her jaw. "Are you married?"

"Yes. Are you? Is your husband in the waiting room? He can come in if you'd like," Sakura smiled and gestured for her to remove her suit jacket. "It would be easier for me to listen to your heart."

The woman unbuttoned her jacket slowly, shrugging it off.

Sakura pressed her stethoscope to her chest.

"Oh no, nothing like that..." she said vaguely, waving her hand. "Would your husband have accompanied you?"

"Breathe deeply, please," Sakura instructed.

She tried to listen to the heart pumping, its valves opening and closing, but the woman spoke again.

"Husbands are all the same, aren't they?" the woman insisted, her little eyes burning with curiosity.

Sakura's eyebrow twitched. She put the stethoscope back around her neck.

"You've syphilis," Sakura said, her face unreadable.

Roughly, she pressed the soap dispenser and washed her hands.

"What?" the woman blinked rapidly.

Sakura glared at her.

"Only someone with a rotten brain would take up one slot in the ER for their own personal gain. You're a journalist, aren't you?"

"I-I don't know what-" the woman stammered.

"Get out of my examination room!" Sakura bellowed, and pointed at the door.

-X-

At the end of her shift, Sakura didn't return home.

She went to his office, driving recklessly, her hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. She mumbled angrily to herself.

She boiled, her mouth spasming with insults.

She expanded, anger and resentment shaking her to her core.

She was tired of being Sabaku Gaara's wife.

Sakura barged in the building of Sabaku Group, the revolving doors still spinning behind her.

She wrinkled her nose at the marble floors, the long banners with the company's logo handing down the high ceiling. 'Such a cliché,' she thought.

Sakura pushed through the security barrier without a glance back at the whirling sirens and shouting guards. She pressed the button to call an elevator.

"Ma'am! You need a badge."

"All of you shut up!" Sakura shouted, her temper rising, and they stopped mid-track. They only vaguely recognized her, but they obeyed the imperious icy tone.

The elevator pinged, and Sakura stepped inside.

One of the security guards held up the doors.

Sakura sneered at him.

"I'm going to see my husband, and I'm really good with a scalpel, so I suggest you remove your hand from that elevator door."

"Who's your husband, maybe we can call him down, so you can..." he gulped. "...talk through your martial problems outside."

"It's Sabaku Gaara, and I was disturbed at work, so now I'm disturbing him at work. Got a problem with that?"

She glared at them.

"Huh... I-"

"Remove. Your. Hand."

They bowed, uneasily, and she saw one of them reached for talkie-walkie, his mouth agape, the colours draining from his face.

She reached the top floor, and Gaara's assistant scurried to her feet. She bowed deeply, crumbs of cookies still attached to her lips.

"Sakura-sama! I didn't- We didn't-" Matsuri jogged next to Sakura matching her speed. Quickly, she wiped her mouth. "I mean, no one is expecting you, but you can wait in the waiting room until Gaara-sama is done with his meeting? Would you like sparkling water?" she babbled.

"He's in there?" Sakura jerked her thumb toward high burgundy doors crisscrossed with brass bamboos.

"Yes, but you can't-" Matsuri yelped.

Sakura hurled the doors open.

The sound echoed gravely against the walls, the doors vibrating with the strength of her push.

Gaara glanced up, then back at his document. He cocked his head to the side, glanced back up at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, am I disturbing you in your work?" Sakura shouted.

The directors stared at her, frozen in their seats, their mouth agape.

"In fact, yes," Gaara frowned.

"I had a patient today, who was just a journalist!" She screeched, and she pointed her finger at him. "'How's your husband?'" she mocked in a shrill. "This is the ER, not a fucking talk show! You tell those vultures not to disturb me at work, is that clear?"

"Hn."

"Don't 'hn' me," Sakura shouted louder, her voice booming across the high ceiling of the room.

Gaara stretched his neck, his eyes half-shut.

"What was her name?"

Sakura slammed a newspaper on the conference table.

"She's the one writing this garbage."

Gaara looked at the wrinkled newspaper' pages scattered around the spot where she had thrown them.

"I'll take care of it."

"Yes, you will," she snapped, her cheeks turning red.

Sakura spun on her heels and headed out of the room. Savagely, she slammed the doors back shut.

Squared shoulders. Straight back. Chin up.

She winced and glanced sideways at Matsuri. The girl still had her hands pressed to her mouth.

"Did I imagine that?" Sakura murmured.

Quickly, Matsuri shook her mousy head, the corner of her widened frightened eyes filled with tears.

-X-

Sakura pinched her lips when she heard the front door open.

She cut the boy chow more finely, the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board filling the silence. Squared shoulders. Straight back. Chin up. Squared shoulders. Straight back. Chin up. Squared shoulders. Straight back. Chin up! She recited continuously in her head.

She didn't look up, her body tensing with his looming presence.

It lurked, this thing, this darkness, she didn't understand about her husband. She didn't want to flinch. She didn't want to be petrified. He had never given her any reason to fear him, so why did she flinch away from him?

"I called the newspaper," Gaara said and he loosened the tie around his neck.

Sakura cleared her throat, and pinched her lips.

"Good," she said with feigned disinterest.

His presence as invasive, crushing, Gaara leaned on the kitchen island next to her. He watched her work, his head cocked to the side. Her movements were stiff, but faltering under his stare, her knife sliding in the vegetable easily, expertly. He smirked.

"They want an interview."

The knife cut harder, now embedded in the cutting board.

Her jaw twitched.

"Tell them to go to hell," Sakura gritted her teeth.

"I did," he said quietly, and gripped the knife out of her hands.

"You did?" Sakura said in surprise and she let him move the cutting board away from her.

Gaara nodded.

"I told them you know your way with a scalpel," he said, and amusement glinted in his stiff smile, his cold eyes. "What you told my security guards."

"Oh," Sakura's cheeks burnt.

She scratched her arm.

He caught her hand.

She startled.

"Am I still invited to bed?" Gaara whispered against her palm.

Sakura bristled, watching his mouth moulded to her palm, advancing slowly to her wrist.

"You can't ask that! Not that way!" Sakura stammered, dry-mouthed, but she didn't stop him.

Gaara shrugged, glancing up at her. He held onto her hand, slowly spinning her wedding ring. He stopped. Smirking, he pressed her palm to his cheek.

"Can I bed you? Is that better?" he said and she tensed, his mouth tickled the thin skin of her wrist.

"Gaara!" she exclaimed, and whipped her hand out.

"I like how bossy you are," he mused aloud, and he brushed her hair out of her face.

She patted his hand away.

"That's not a reason!"

Shakily, Sakura reached for the cupboard, but he pushed it farther away, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Give me a reason then..." Gaara ordered.

"I don't know," she frowned, staring harder at the cutting board.

"Hn."

Sakura touched her forehead, thinking of his tattoo. 'Tell me I belong here. Tell me we aren't just two misfits finding each other because there's no one else for us.'

"You could at least say I'm pretty," she said weakly.

"You're very pretty," he replied.

"You're thinking about adding 'when I'm angry', aren't you? 'I'm pretty when I'm angry'."

"No," Gaara frowned. "Kankuro warned me against saying that when I was 17."

Sakura forced a smile.

"It's not enough," she muttered.

He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What else do you want to hear?"

"What did your brother tell you about that?"

"Not to mention him."

"Yes, that sounds about right," Sakura pursued her lips, her fingers edging for the cutting board. "Now, let me-"

"No, I want to talk about this."

"Gaara!" she snapped impatiently.

"Honey, please," Gaara muttered against her ear.

Her heart hammering her bones, she tilted her head back, watching him.  

"What the hell..." Sakura threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her.

She kissed him with force before he could say anything. Gaara stepped back, but he caught her savagely, selfishly, his hold too tight. Her hand moved across his face, light fingers calloused with her practice. She barely moved, her heart pounding in her ears, focused on the pressure of his lips moving against hers. Lack of oxygen. The scent of his after-shave.

She detached herself from him but he gripped her arms, his arm enclosing her.

"You're so so bossy with your little notes," she shoved him away from her, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

She panted, trembling.

He stared at her lips, an eyebrow raised.

"Do you want me to stop?" Gaara whispered.

Sakura panted.

"No. Yes. Maybe."

"Which is it?" he asked, closer to her.

She gripped his shirt, pulling him back toward her, and he crashed against her, lips and body. He sucked on her below lip. His hands firmly massaged her hips. She gasped, then moaned. She felt his teeth against her lip, her hands curling into shuddering fists around his shirt.

He released her lips with a wet sucking sound.

Lightly, she pressed her nails to his cheek, her heaving chest brushing against his. He lightly bit on her fingers.

"Your goddamn pink pen... I want to throw it out," Gaara growled releasing her fingers.

He ran his hands up her back to press her harder against him.

Stubbornly, Sakura turned her face and he kissed her neck, grunting deep in his throat. His hungry lips nibbling, sucking.

"You're not ever throwing out my stuff out again," she sharply pulled at his tie. Silk cascaded between her fingers on the floor, and she shuddered at his lips parting over her neck.

He gently sucked on the crook of her neck.

Her heart exploded in her ears, her eyes drifting shut.

"The kitchen is such a mess," Gaara mumbled and trailed kissed along her jaw, his gaze drifting across the counter. "What are you even doing? Cooking for 12?"

Sakura moved her head to capture his lips again. She opened her mouth, shuddering, when he grabbed her butt. They froze. They shifted their positing, readjusting, pulling at and pushing against each other. They wanted to fit against each other. Their tongues pressed against one another, swirling roughly. He pressed a hand to her throat, his fingers sinking slowly into her hair.

She beat her palms against his chest.

He released her.

She tore her lips from his.

"Have you seen your hair?" Sakura snapped, and he growled in response, his eyes sparkling, wide. "It's the biggest mess here."

His heavy gaze followed her hands as she reached for him. Her stare never left his face.

Sharply, she pulled his shirt out of his pants.

"Don't call me honey," Sakura said, wetting her sore, plucked lips. "I call you that."

-X-

"Damn, that sounds hot," Tenten whistled on the screen, and scratched her arm.

"It was just kiss and stuff," Sakura shrugged, embarrassed, and her hand covered her mouth.

She was sitting crossed-leg on her bed in front of her laptop propped up on pillows. She hesitated. She wanted to tell them about the gashes on his back, the same letters traced and retraced so many times, he carried the word as muscle memory, as the marrow of his being. Monster.

She had frozen, her palms laid flat across his back.

Her husband was a marked man.

Her husband was a monster.

'Don't ask please.'

Sakura snapped back to reality when Ino waved her head vehemently, her pink lips pursued.

"OK, but what about the other kiss? Do you know who it was?" Ino asked hotly, frowning, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Who?" Sakura blinked rapidly, and she dropped her hand.

"That woman who kissed your husband."

Sakura grew rigid, petrified. She hadn't thought about her since her first night.

"Oof, don't try to find out," Tenten said and shook her head. "Box of worm, that is. It looks like she's got more chest than you and we know how self-conscious you are about boobies."

"Shut up!" Sakura bristled.

"Naw, she should find out. At least, to know if she can take her," Ino raised an eyebrow at her. "You should totally demand to know who that was."

"He said she was a dancer," Sakura muttered.

There were times Ino pushed her too much. She was too overprotective. Too short-tempered. And Sakura could barely keep up with her. And when she would look back, Ino would have fought all Sakura's battles on her own.

"Then, she's definitely got bigger boobs than you," Tenten shrugged and reached behind her to grab an apple. "And ones that won't sag." She bit in her apple noisily, humming to herself.

"What's the story though? Why did he kiss her? Are you sure this is a dancer? She isn't dressed like one..." Ino demanded in a rapid succession, wrinkling her nose at the noise Tenten was making. "Stop that!"

Sakura looked up, she saw them looking away. She had never thought of that. She wasn't dressed as a dancer, and dancers didn't kiss clients on the street.

Their conversation fizzled out, uneasiness creeping behind every word. Tenten's grey eyes silently followed her, and Ino filled every gaping hole of their conversation with high-pitched outcries about outfits and her co-workers.

Sakura chewed on her below lip after they disconnected from the video-chat.

She resisted the urge to pull up the picture of Gaara kissing the mystery woman on her computer. She shut her lap top, and dropped back on the bed, her arms spread across the pillows. She stared at the fan lazily turning above the bed, frowning.

The warm air on her air, shuffling her hair, she wondered if that was why she was so terrified of Gaara. He hid one part of himself.

'Don't ask please,' he had begged, his forehead in the crook of her neck, his breath shallow.

But she wanted to know.

She needed to know.

[whumppile]

Could you write a spiderman fic where tony goes to check on his plane after it crashed on the beach and finds a badly injured peter there? I watched the scene in homecoming and couldn't believe he was able to walk out of there!

omg dude (or whichever pronoun you prefer) me too! I was planning this fic while in the theatre watching it but didn’t get my lazy ass to writing it so thanks for requesting this cause I finally did it! 

Honestly it’s insane that they would just have him walk away from the amount of hits to the head he got, and all the other bashing’s, ugh typical tho. Anyway here is poor whumped Peter, I’ll post this on my ff.net and ao3 accounts as “A little bit broken.” and since it will probably have more chapters I’ll post the links at the end so you can follow or bookmark it on those sites if you want so you’ll know when the next chapter is out (Although I can’t promise there will be more I’m just hoping more will come to me.)

ANyway here you go, pllleeeaaase let me know what you think? Cause this took a few hours lol

Peter droppedLiz’s dad on the sand and groaned as every inch of his body screamed out inpain. He couldn’t put any weight on his right leg, could barely move it, andhis left arm hung limp at his side.

His chest wasburning, making it hard to breathe as fire raged around him.

He knew he hadto get somewhere safe, to get help, but his vision was nothing but blurredlights and black spots, and when his eyes closed of their own accord, hedropped to the sand and felt nothing.

…………….

Voices. Heat.Pain.

And he knew thatvoice, it was comforting to him. Something like a dad but not quite.

“Peter? Can youhear me? I’m here, kid, you’ll be okay, just don’t move. Happy, get me a medteam here, now! Jesus, this is all my fault. Peter, stay with me, come o-“

The voice fellaway into darkness. Or maybe it was Peter that was falling.

He didn’t knowhow long he’d been gone for, but when the real world came back, it came backfast.

He snapped backto consciousness so quickly it was like he’d never left it. Fires were beingput out around him as people rushed around, some of them crowding around Peter,but all he could feel was pain and all he could hear was his own scream.

He sobbed, inagony, as hands gripped at his limbs, and stabbed his skin.

“P-please stop,it hurts!”

The sky abovehim was full of smoke, and he coughed painfully as he struggled to pull in morethan shallow pants. Voices called out around him, quick and urgent.

“Get that linetaped in, and strap his leg down, we can’t have him moving it until we get somex-rays done. Peter, I need to stay calm and lay still. We’re here to help,you’ll be okay.”

Straps pulledover his chest, rubbing against his bare chest, and pressing wires down. Hehurt so much, and they were holding him down. There was something around hisneck, preventing him from turning his head, and he didn’t feel sand underneathhim anymore, just something cold and hard.

He was scaredand in pain and as much as he fought against the straps and hands holding himdown, he couldn’t move. Peter let out another sob as he slumped against thebackboard he was held to.

“Be careful withhim.”

That voiceagain, it was Mr Stark. He was close by and Peter wanted to see him, to knowthat he was safe, but  he couldn’t findhim.

Another voice,one he didn’t know, started shouting as his eyes dropped.

“Don’t fallasleep, kid! Keep your eyes open!”

But theblackness was creeping in again and he couldn’t fight it.

…………….

Peter wasmoving, or rather, he was being moved. He wasn’t fully aware of anything justyet. It was like being underwater, where the sounds are muffled and all you cansee is blurry warped images of the world above.

Peter’s eyes wereclosed, and he didn’t have control over his body, but he felt it, and he feltthe pain as well as the hands crowding over his skin.

Cool air hit hisbare chest, as efficient fingers pressed into his sides and over his torso,making him hurt as voices jumbled together in a cacophony of sound that hewished would just go away.

“I need a CT andMRI done as soon as we have his shoulder in place and I want that leg strappeddown until the scans come back. Mr Stark, you can wait in the-“

“I’m staying.”

That was Tony.Peter would recognize that gruff tone anywhere, even with the other noises, hissluggish mind knew it.

The first voicewas impatient. “We need room to work, if you’ll just-“

“I’m not leavinghim! I’ll stay out of the way but I won’t leave unless absolutely necessary. He’sfifteen.” The tone of his last words made his message clear. Peter was fifteen,he was too young, too young to be almost dying.

The other voicesighed, close to Peter’s head, as something snaked under his nose, blowing coolair, and making it a little easier to breathe.

“Fine. Let’s gethis stats up before we move him, please.”

There was toomuch going on, and so much pain, that when his senses began to darken, he didn’tmind at all.

…………….

Tony watched asthey put Peter back together. Strapping things down, and scanning things. Peterwas lost under the sheer amount of tubes, wires, and braces, surrounding him.He didn’t move at all, which was a blessing, but it made him look like a doll…ora corpse. The doctors and nurses moved him around as they needed, lifting arms,and pulling them back into place.

Peter’shome-made suit was cut off and discarded, thrown to the side as they worked onhim, but Tony couldn’t watch it lay on the floor like garbage. He’d made fun ofit when he first seen it, but it was so very Peter. The kid didn’t have much,but he made things, and he made them well. The suit had been made lovingly,proudly, by the bright fifteen-year-old, and now it was nothing but rags.

The material wasso thin, and thoroughly torn. It was the only thing that had stood betweenPeter’s vulnerable body, and the metal that had pummeled into him. Tony pickedthe shredded suit off the floor and held it in his shaking hands.

When Tony hadbeen designing Peter’s suit, he had thought of and prepared for every possible scenariohis over worried mind had come up with. But he hadn’t been prepared for Peterto go after the vulture without it. God, what had he done?

…………….

Peter wokeagain. Woke was a strong word. He became aware.

Someone wascrying, and Peter didn’t like it. He thought he knew who it was, but the name wouldn’tcome to his syrupy mind. His thoughts were slow and sticky, and the more hetried to think the more confused he was. So, he just felt.

He felt a handin his, soft slender fingers, as the person continued to sob, words coming outas a strangled mess.

“What happenedto him? He was supposed to be at homecoming. Oh, Peter, baby.”

There was apause, like a held breath, and then another familiar voice, tone hard as if itwere trying very hard not to shake.

“Peter left thedance to talk with me about the internship but our car was hit by anothervehicle. I’m so sorry May.”

Peter didn’t rememberany of that. The other voice came again, May, that’s who it was; as a handswept through his hair, brushing it back on his forehead in a way that made himfeel just like he had when he was a kid, being looked after by his mother.

“Will he beokay?”

Tony, becausethat other voice had to be him, spoke once more. “Severe concussion, minorsmoke inhalation, separated shoulder, four broken ribs, internal bleeding, tornACL, and heavy bruising…well, everywhere.”

It was clear hewasn’t reading it from a chart, which meant he’d memorized every injury, andhad no doubt blamed it on himself. His voice softened.

It’ll take a lotof rehab for the knee but the surgery went well, and he’s a tough kid, he’ll beokay. I’ll take care of everything, I have the best team of doctors in on this,you don’t have to worry about any of it.”

May sniffedagain, hand leaving Peter’s hair to stroke against his cheek instead. Peter wasglad she was there. He felt safer than he had before, wherever he’d been. Intruth, he couldn’t remember much, but he didn’t think he wanted to.

Her voice wassad and small. “He’s all I have.”

Footsteps echoedacross a hard floor, and Tony’s voice sounded closer, right next to May’s.

“I know.” Peterheard the words, but the tone didn’t sound like “I know”, it sounded more like “metoo.”

May lifted hislimp hand, and planted a kiss against his knuckles, before she spoke again,voice wobbly and soaked in tears.

“Peter, baby, we’reright here, okay? Everything’s going to be all right, so you wake up now.Please honey, just open your eyes, or squeeze my hand. Let me know you’re okay?”

Peter wanted to,he wanted to do anything to make his aunt sound happy again, but his body didn’tfeel like it belonged to him. He occupied it, sure, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’twake up. He didn’t feel like he was quite ready yet either.

Steady beepingcontinued as the two adults waited in silence for any sign that the teenagerwould wake.

Tony finallysighed and Peter felt a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Pete. We’ll wait for you,as long as you need.”

Thing’s starteddrifting again after that, and Peter was glad he didn’t have to hear May cryanymore.

Life became aseries of aware moments with periods of darkness in between. Voices drifted inand out, some he knew, some he didn’t. He ignored a lot of what they said.

“-ould come outof the coma soon, but you have to understand, thebrain is a very difficult thing to predict. He was hit very hard. And we just don’tknow when he’ll come out of it.”

He thought Nedwas there at some point, and maybe Michelle too, but he hadn’t been able tofocus on much. He thought he had heard Ned crying, and Michelle’s voice was smallerthen he’d ever heard it before.

“He looks sosmall.” Usually something like that coming from Michelle would be an insult,but she sounded afraid.

Peter’s bodycame back to him in parts. Like when he’d felt water dripping into his mouth.Someone was rubbing ice against his slightly parted lips, melting it justenough for the water to fall onto his parched tongue.

Or, when he felthis limbs being moved, stretched, and massaged as he lay limp. 

After a while,he found he was able to move his fingers, just a twitch or a brief increase ofpressure when someone held his hand. Their encouraging and excited voices wouldhave made Peter smile if he had been able to.

Then all of asudden, his eyes were open. He was blinking, before he’d realized he’d woken,and he saw himself for the first time.

He was in a bed,one arm strapped to his chest, as wires lay over him, IV’s taped to his goodarm, and a blanket pulled up to his waist, leaving his top half bare. Hiseyebrows furrowed as he looked down at his legs. One of them was propped up ona pillow, with a huge brace encasing the limb.

He didn’t knowwhat was happening or why he was there.

Somethingtickled his nose, and he frowned further as he lifted a heavy hand, the one notstrapped in a brace, to pull at whatever it was. Someone stopped him first, gentlytaking his hand and pressing it back to the bed.

“Leave thatthere, Pete. It’s helping you.” Tony’s voice was so tired, as if it weren’t thefirst time he’d said it, and Peter turned his head towards him, seeing himrubbing at his face from where he sat at the side of the bed. He blinked athim, watching as Tony’s face turned into one of hope.

“Peter? Can youhear me?”

The teenagertook a moment, mind still sluggish, but he managed a nod and squeezed Tony’sfingers where they lay in his. The older man sat forward in his seat and smiledsounding excited.

“You gonna stayawake this time?”

Peter blinkedheavily and didn’t know what he meant by that, but nodded again. Tony smiledwider and quickly reached over to where May was asleep in her own chair, facepressed to Peter’s good leg. She woke quickly, sitting up as Tony shook hershoulder, voice gravelly from sleep.

“What is it?What’s wrong?”

Tony pointed tothe kid in the bed and May froze, her eyes were huge as she watched Peterblinking at her. She reached for his face, soft hands brushing over his cheeks,being careful to avoid the nasal cannula still providing him oxygen.

“Peter? Baby, doyou know who I am?”

She looked so hopeful,but also scared, like she might not get what she wanted so badly. Peter felthis mouth twitch into what he hoped was a smile. It was hard to find words, andharder to make his mouth move to form them, but when he did she smiled like she’djust won the lottery.

“May.” The shortsyllable was as slurred as it could be for just three letters, but she laughedanyway, surging forward to press kisses all over his face.

“Oh my god, you’reback. You’re really, okay.” She sat back, watching him, and brushing his hairback with one hand as he blinked at her with those bright eyes she loved morethan anything else in the world.

“You kept openingyour eyes, but you wouldn’t respond to anything, it was like you were gone. Wewere so worried, we thought- God, Peter, don’t ever do that to me again.”

Her words beganto wobble and tilt, and Peter frowned, not wanting her to be sad as he pushedone melted word from his clumsy mouth.

“Sorry.”

May’s eyesfilled with tears, and she held Peter’s face in her hands, her shoulders shakingas she began to cry again.

“Oh, honey, it’sokay. It’s all okay now, you’re here and that’s all that matters. You came backto me.”

Peter didn’t wantto see her cry, Tony put an arm around her shoulders and she fell into hischest as he hugged her. It had a familiarity to it, like they’d done it morethan once before.

They looked likethey’d been through a lot, or he supposed he had. But as long as they weretogether, they’d be just fine.

(Soryy I didn’t know how to end it. Let me know what you think and what should happen int he next chapter should there be one. Thanks for the prompt!)

You can find this and all my fics here

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11949249/chapters/27015372

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12634037/1/A-little-bit-broken

[whumppile]

Your spiderman fics are so good! I was wondering if you could write a fic of the scene in spiderman homecoming where the warehouse collapses on top of him and maybe have tony come to save him? I don't know if you're taking requests right now, if not just ignore this.

Aw thank you! I’m so glad you like them! Yeah absolutely that scene was wonderful, the noises he made and the acting gosh it was great. I couldn’t remember all the details about what happened so I just made stuff up lol or left stuff out about how the building collapse happened but anyway I hope you like it please let me know what you think of it. It’s called “I admit I’m scared.”

Water dripped, and metal creaked, and Peter couldn’t move.The building had come down so fast, he hadn’t had time to think. Now he wastrapped beneath metal and wood, and he could barely take in a breath.

Peter wriggled in his trap, becoming more panicked as theseconds ticked on. He didn’t like not being able to move, he didn’t like beingvulnerable. He clawed at his mask, ripping the fabric away from his pantingmouth as he tried desperately to free himself from the wreckage.

His chest burned, and he let out a cry of agony as pain shotthrough his leg like a knife. With his heightened senses, he could feel every millimetreof movement as his broken bone shifted in his leg. It hurt so badly and felt sowrong that he suddenly felt nauseous.

Panic welled up within him. He was hurt and trapped andalone. He could die under a pile of rubble and no one would find him. Aunt maywould be alone.

Tears fells, quick and hot over Peter’s cheeks as he startedto scream.

“Help! Someone help me, please!” His voice cracked as he letout a sob. He was so, so, scared. He should have just listened to Tony, heshould have stayed away from trouble and been a friendly neighbourhood Spider-man.But now he was trapped and he was going to die.

Water dripped from the wreckage, falling over pieces ofdebris and scrap, and falling into Peter’s eyes and mouth, and he spat it outand shook his head.

He didn’t have time to wallow, he couldn’t afford the luxuryof feeling sorry for himself. Tony’s words rang, harsh in his ears.

“If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t haveit.”

But he also remembered the look on Mr Starks face when he’dfirst met him, the pride and awe at the footage of Peter catching a car to stopit from hitting into the tram.

He was spider-man before the suit, and he was spider-mannow. Shaking hands, pressed against the ground, Peter grunting with the effortof trying to stand underneath the wreck on top of him. He knew his broken leg wouldn’tbe able to take any weight, and even getting to his knees would hurt like hell,but he had to try, he had to prove that he was more than a kid.

His arms shook with the effort, and his chest screamed inagony as he strained his broken ribs. But he could do this. He was spider-man.

“Come on Peter, you can do it. Come on. Come on Spider-man.”

Grunts and pants escaped his clenched teeth, and he criedout as he lifted the rubble enough to crawl out of. It was a tight squeeze, hiscostume catching on pieces of rock and scrap as he wrenched himself out. Ithurt so badly, just to move, that his eyes became blurry, black spots dancingacross vision as his body begged to just black out, to just end the pain. Buthe wasn’t safe yet, he needed to find help, and there was no way he was walkingon his broken leg.

He gave himself a moment to catch his breath, rubbing hiseyes at an attempt to stop the spinning his head was doing. When he opened hiseyes, looking around at the mess he’d made of the warehouse, he also got aglimpse at his leg.

He almost threw up then and there, it looked so bad.

His leg wasn’t supposed to look like that. It was like…hisleg was bent…in the middle of his calf.

Peter’s world went white for a few seconds, before he foundhimself looking up at the sky.

“Huh, must…have black…ed out.” Peter frowned at the way hiswords jumbled and melted in his mouth, coming out like stretched gum, and hadthe distant thought that maybe it was time to find help. But he’d triedscreaming and that hadn’t worked.

Looking down at himself, he realised he was in his Spideysuit. He had to make sure no one found him in his costume, because then they’dknow his identity. He knew he should call Tony, but…oh! Peter gave himself alittle tap on the forehead for forgetting about the special pocket he’d made sothat his phone wouldn’t fall out when he was doing his spider thing.

His hands were all sleepy and strange, in fact his wholebody was, so it took a few moments just to pull the phone from his pocket, butonce he had he quickly dialled the well-known number.

As usual, no one picked up, and he got the voicemail he’dheard a hundred times.

“This is Tony’s direct line, you shouldn’t have this but ifyou do, you already know how this works. Anyway, do the ‘leave you message atthe sound of the beep thing.’”

The familiar beep sounded, and Peter knew it was his turn totalk, but he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to say.

“Hey Tony…um… what was I going to…?” The teenager was so confusedhe forgot he was holding a phone at all.

“Ugh, I can’t concen…trate, why does everything hurt? Oh…yeah,I broke the building. Whoops. My bad. Bad Peter.”

His mind was slipping, melting everything together andconfusing his every thought. He didn’t even notice the click, that told himsomeone had picked up the call. Tony’s voice came through.

“Pete? Did you say you broke a building?”

Peter smiled, his eyes dipping lower in exhaustion. “Heeeeyyy,Mr Stark. Yeah, it was an accident though, I p…promise.”

Tony spoke again, this time sounding more concerned, andthere was noise in the background, though Peter couldn’t figure out what itwas.

“Peter. Were you in the building when it broke?”

He had to think about that one. He looked around a little,too tired now, to move much.

“Umm, I think so. It was scary. And loud.”

The noises coming from the phone came louder, and morerushed. There were other voices too, one of them Tony’s, but they weren’t directedtowards Peter.

“Friday, give me his vitals, and why wasn’t I alertedearlier?”

A nice voice replied, sounding patient. “I cannot give youhis vitals. He isn’t wearing the suit you gave him, you took that away.”

Tony cursed. Naughty Tony. “Just track his phone then, andtell me where he is.”

This time Mr Stark did talk to Peter, which was a good thingbecause he’d just been about to fall asleep.

“Peter, are you hurt?”

He let out a small groan, to indicate that yes, he was, andhe was too tired to talk right now, but this only made Tony’s voice get louder.

“Peter! Answer me!”

“…I think…my leg is on sideways. It’s not supposed to do that.”

Tony swore again, noises from the phone becoming loud, like enginesand jets.

“I’m coming, kid. Just hang on, keep talking to me.F.R.I.D.A.Y, call a med team and send them to Spider-Man’s location.”

Peter blinked, and used his free hand to pull a rock fromunder his back, that had been digging into his skin, uncomfortably.

“Talk about what? Oh… did you know I once met Iron man whenI was little? That was pretty cool, he’s a good guy.”

The phone made noise again, a worried voice coming throughbut Peter didn’t know if he could remember who it was. Stupid, melty brain.

“That was me, Pete. I’m Iron man. Just stay awake for mebuddy, I’m coming to get you.”

The noises from the phone were louder, like they were in abig hurry, and Peter dropped the phone beside his head. The hammer inside hishead didn’t like all the noise.

It was cold, wherever Peter was, and he was not comfortableat all. He should get a new mattress, because it was definitely broken if itwas this jagged and hard to lie on.

Peter blinked again, and opened his eyes to see a giantmetal man landing on the ground beside him. Oh, that was Iron man, he knew him.

Iron man took his mask off and knelt beside Peter, face awashwith concern. His hands hovered over the teenager, unsure of where to touch.

“Peter, oh god. This is…you’ll be okay, just focus on me.F.R.I.D.A.Y where is that med team, I need them here now.”

The nice voice answered again. “They’re three minutes out, I’llnotify them of Peter’s injuries. Oblique displaced fracture of the left tibiashaft, three broken ribs, multiple minor lacerations, internal bleeding, gradethree concussion-“

“That’s enough. What should I do?”

Peter didn’t know if Tony was talking to him or the nicevoice, but he didn’t know the answer either way so he stayed quiet. Thankfully,the nice voice answered.

“I believe he may be going into shock. Keep him awake, andcalm, and try to warm him up if possible.”

Tony nodded, taking the teenagers hand, and trying to calmhis own panicked breaths.

“Peter, how did this happen?”

Peter wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Everything wasjust too confusing for his slippery brain to hold all at once. It would be mucheasier if he weren’t so tired. Maybe he should just take a quick nap.

“G’night.”

Tony didn’t sound happy about his decision, voice too loudand scared.

“No, no no, Pete, stay awake! Don’t close your eyes kid,come on!”

But it was too late, Peter was already dreaming about a truckfull of paramedics running towards him. Huh, that was a weird dream, maybe thatwas real after all.

“Sorry, too tired.” Peter closed his eyes and let theblackness swallow him up.

…………………

Tony couldn’t breathe. He’d taken the kids suit to protecthim, and now he was fighting for his life in the back of an ambulance. Oh god,that leg, he couldn’t look at it without wanting to throw up, and that face.That innocent face with the huge eyes that made it so hard to turn him downwhen he begged for something. It was covered in bruises and scrapes, eyesclosed and skin pale.

There was blood seeping from his hairline, and his suit wascut open to expose his mottled chest. Dark bruises crept over Peter’s innocentskin, and the wires and tubes being placed all over him, made the kid looksmaller, and more vulnerable.

God, this was all his fault. He took the kids hand and squeezedit lightly as the paramedics continued to work.

“Hang on, Pete.”

………………

Everything was numb. Which, in comparison to some mornings,was pretty good. As Spider-man, Peter was no stranger to waking up with achesand pains from a previous days workout or ass kicking. So, sometimes he felloff buildings, no big deal, he was alive, wasn’t he?

Except everything was numb this time, not ‘there’s no pain,so I’m not hurt’ but more like, I’m hurt badly and on a lot of meds to remedythat.

There was a beeping somewhere close to his head, insistentand annoying. Was that his alarm? Or…no his alarm didn’t sound like that.

Tired eyes blinked open to a white ceiling. Huh, that didn’tlook like his bedroom. But if he was numb, and therefore probably hurt, he wouldn’tbe at home anyway.

“Peter? Are you with me?”

That was Tony. Peter blinked again and tried to find theowner of the voice. Thankfully, he stood, so Peter wouldn’t have to move tofind him.

He looked a little ruffled, his clothes wrinkled as if he’dbeen wearing them for a while. Peter took a moment to look down at himself,before answering. He was lying in a hospital bed, blankets and wires coveringmost of him, except the casted leg that was help up with a pillow. His chestwas raised, so that he was almost sitting, to take pressure off his brokenribs.

Peter turned back to Tony, trying to keep his words fromslurring.

“Thanks for saving me.”

His mind was a little fuzzy, and he didn’t remember a lot ofwhat had happened, but he remembered someone holding his hand and talking tohim when he was scared and confused.

Tony’s shoulders slumped a little, visibly relaxing now thathe knew the teenager was okay. He sat back in his chair and started tapping onhis phone, trying his best to look as if he hadn’t lost his mind with worry.

“No problem, but how about next time you just listen to meand not go after a super villain by yourself.”

Peter, let out a small sigh, voice quiet and more childlikethan he’d meant it to be. “Sorry. I just wanted to help.”

Tony looked up from his screen, and laid a careful hand onthe kid’s arm.

“I’m glad you’re okay. And…you know, I’ll always be therefor you.”

Peter could hear the strain in his voice, he knew how difficultit was for the older man to be so gentle with him. He smiled, closing his eyesagain as the drugs in his system pulled him back to sleep.

“Thanks dad.”

Tony froze at that word, that title, but the teenager hadalready fallen asleep. He smiled just a little, while his heart squeezed tightin his chest.

“No problem, under-roo’s.”

(please tell me what you think of this!!!! I’ll post it on my ao3 and ff.net accounts too!)