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lion-buddy · 2 years

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hi welcome to my tanjiro ramble :)

A large part of Tanjiro’s dialogue throughout the series consists of very self-deprecating thoughts. He's constantly putting himself down for things outside of his control, in situations that seem impossible. Whether it be for being too slow to act, not being somewhere at the right time (even though he couldn't have possibly been there, even if he knew), taking all the blame for what was literally a group effort, are all factors of the situation he has no control over. And he blames himself for the outcome. He doesn't give himself a break, which is a pattern seen a lot throughout kny with many other characters. And everyone handles these thoughts and feelings differently, both physically and mentally. But, since Tanjiro is our main protagonist, we see a lot more of these little scenes delving into his inner monologue, and we see him talk down to himself a lot. And the thing is, we never really get to see him deal with these thoughts in a healthy way, which always bothered me.

(continued under the cut !! :D)

Because of his unhealthy mindset, Tanjiro is constantly putting his health on the back burner in order to excel. A clear example of this is when he keeps his fever high in order to perform his sun breathing techniques better. And yeah, he got what he wanted. It worked, and he excelled. And, as a demon slayer, putting your body in jeopardy is necessary. We see characters time and time again sacrificing themselves for the greater good, because it's what needs to be done. But!! What i'm trying to get at here is when Tanjiro does this outside of battle. Like with the fever temperature thing, and running to the Rengoku estate while still in recovery, I would have liked to have seen some repercussions in the moment for those actions. (and side note. They have done something similar to this once already. It was when tanjiro was training with inosuke and zenitsu in the forest. We see tanjiro collapse to the ground in exhaustion from pulling off too many consecutive sun breathing moves that his body could not handle. I like that, I hope the anime adds more little scenes like that. But training too hard is different. Training, even intensive training, is a normal, healthy way to get stronger. Actively making your body worse/ignoring your body when it is in bad condition is not a healthy way to get stronger, and technically, you shouldn't!). And other characters around him tell him that! Tanjiro is someone who will push himself past his limit, ignoring his body's weaknesses to accomplish his goals, which is basically a required trait in order to become a successful demon slayer. It's not his fault, but he should have learned at some point to not hurt himself so much in the training process, or at least have it acknowledged. Like, for example, maybe have a plot line related to the fever incident, where he does get caught lying, and has to find a new way to raise his body temp that is less harmful to himself. Just a thought tho, and is just something that I think could have been better utilized for character development. Like, it was a setup with no conclusion, if you get what I mean.

That type of self-sacrificial mindset goes hand in hand with his self depreciation. He pushes himself to get better because he doesn't think he will ever be good enough. And this is used to set up some very good character moments, like his dialogue after Renogku’s death. i love that scene for how it sets up Tanjiro’s insecurities and how his friends react to his words. That scene was heartbreaking to listen to, and I really understood where Tanjiro was coming from. It outlined his frustrations with his own weakness and his worry he will never be good enough. And it sets up some great growth and potential, and we do end up seeing him grow in great skill as a demon slayer throughout the rest of the series. But he still treats himself like a burden when he cant live up to impossible goals. And its unfortunate that we see him falling right back into this mindset later, even though he’d been told directly by Inosuke that thinking like that wasn't going to help anyone.

(i love this scene so much. it literally perfect in every way. and while its focus is more on how rengoku’s death effects the boys, i still think this bit of dialogue is very important to this topic.)

And I want to make it clear, I'm not saying Tanjiro shouldn't have these moments of weakness! They are necessary and important, a key part of his character. And they are addressed again later, brought up by Nezuko in both instances (at least from what i can remember. my bad if im forgetting something). We see it in the forest flashback with Nezuko and Tanjiro during the Upper Moon Six fight, and in the recovery room after the final battle. In both conversations, Nezuko tells Tanjiro to not put himself down for outcomes he could not control, how he will never be happy if he only thinks about what he did wrong. He needs to realize that he is not the one in control of his environment, and things are going to change around him whether he likes it or not. The only thing he should be worried about is how he reacts to those changes. He needs to look to the people around him for support, because he can't do everything by himself. He will only end up destroying himself with the burden of everything in the process. It's ok to ask for help, it's ok to struggle. It's ok if you're not good enough. It's not your fault, as long as you try your best. That's all that matters. And “your best” isn't determined by the outcome. If the outcome is all you ever focus on, you will never be happy with yourself.

But I understand that thinking like this is easier said than done. An outcome, a mistake, can result in a lot of people dying, and this is a constant seen throughout kny. Tanjiro’s mindset isn't his fault. Hell, he’s told in the first chapter by Giyu that his inability to act to protect Nezuko is going to be his downfall. And I mean, Giyu isn't wrong in that scenario, he demonstrates his point very well.

(and i dont think that all of this stems from this one conversation, it was up to tanjiro to take these words to heart and be able to apply them to himself. and we do see him grow from this moment with how he actively defends nezuko during their trial, which i think was the point of this scene. but i think its definitely the defining moment for how tanjiro approaches becoming a demon slayer, and subsequently leads him to think the way he does, since demon slaying becomes his life).

And this mindset is probably only made worse because of the traumatic events Tanjiro witnesses throughout all of kny. Anyone who cares, especially someone who cares as much as Tanjiro does, would be discouraged at their inability to stop tragedy. He, along with all the other demon slayers, just want to keep people from suffering the way they had to. And when they fail to do that, well, it must be the worst feeling in the world. And I just wish we could have seen him learn to cope, because it makes me sad to know this is something he is constantly, silently, struggling with all by himself throughout all of kny. It would have been nice to see him just, be nicer to himself, or have it acknowledged more by the end. This would be a hard thing for him to open up about. Tanjiro isn't one to openly talk about his emotions, or the traumas he's witnessed. Because he knows everyone is struggling along with him. He's very quiet when it comes to how he feels, no one forced him to talk, and he wasn't going to himself. Nezuko is one of the only people ever seen challenging his thoughts, and he seems to relax a bit about sharing how he feels around her.

But, seeing she does not talk throughout most of kny, her interference isn't an option in canon. When stuck in a constant state of train, fight, recovery, repeat, it can lead to a disassociation of your worth as a person and cause self sacrifice on all levels. It's not about you, it's about what you're here to do, and that's all that matters. But, even in these circumstances, I still think it provided some really good opportunity for character development for Tanjiro and others, and could have addressed what an environment like that does to a person in its own, character specific way. And I know it would be good content, because we do see it! The conversation about Rengoku’s death between Senjuro and Tanjiro was a beautiful, heartbreaking scene that did exactly what it needed to do. I won't analyze it, cuz that is a lot and it would make me sad :’), but I'm glad we got it. I just think it would have been nice to see other characters grieve the death that is constantly surrounding them more often, and support each other more throughout it. Rengoku’s death is really the only time we get to see that happen with our major characters, and for a very short time at that. Everything goes so fast by the end kny, and it feels like these characters never get the time to grieve, at least not in a satisfying way. And maybe that's the point, maybe it's supposed to show how out of your control the world is, how the next battle isn't going to wait for you to feel better. It just, hurts so much to see these characters suffer like that and never heal mentally. I don't think they ever would heal fully, but it would have been nice to see some progress now that they have the chance to just breathe for themselves.

Cool off:

Haha ok after thoughts. idk where i was going with this! I wrote it after re reading the ending of the manga, and then i started thinking abt the kamado siblings and how the two full “casual” conversations we get from them go down. But it seems i uh, ended up not touching on it as much as I intended to whoops. I dont want to cram it in there, it would feel unnatural. Maybe it'll be its own post. (I often find myself addressing these issues with tanjiro A Lot when writing bits for NezukoTalks!au [name still pending] so i'm glad to have this for reference now :D). But anyway, I hope it all makes sense and doesn't end up coming across as being too rambly! a lot of my concluding thoughts are purely my opinion and preference, and this was more of just something to try and, “organize”, what I think is very important, and not very often addressed in canon, part of tanjiro! TLDR I think it had great set up and potential, and maybe not the best execution. but what do i know, I just think these guys deserve a little therapy idk just a thought

#hi i edited this like 7 different times and i. still dont know how happy i am with it but! just take it away from me :D #kny #demon slayer #Kimetsu no Yaiba #tanjiro #tanjiro kamado #kamado tanjiro #kny spoilers #kny manga

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caitimetravels · 2 years

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she's insignificant

chapter 12: forget it pt2

the umbrella academy x (fem) reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: none

a/n: omg hi im back !! sorry this took so long :(( my exams went pretty shit but thats okay im passing anyways enjoy <3

masterlist

wednesday. 8:15am (again...)

y/n stepped down the stairs, the sound of a loud blast worrying her as she rushed to find her siblings. her head felt unusually cloudy, she had foggy memories playing through her head. had she had a weird dream? it was like something she hadn't quite experienced.. a fever dream? and yet it still felt so real.

as she leant through the doorway to see her siblings all gathered around in the parlour, staring at a body laying on the bar, she held a hand to her head. as she stepped closer in, moving to stand beside allison she realised it was five, laying on a briefcase.

"you guys, am i still high or do you see him too?" klaus slowly pushed himself off the couch he had flung himself on to.

luther immediately went to interrogate him, "five, where have you been?" they all moved closer to him, helping him roll off the bar. he looked injured, y/n noted.

"are you alright?" allison grabbed one of his arms, hauling him up to stand.

"who did this?" luther held onto his other arm, looking shocked at the state of him.

five scoffed, refusing anymore help and stealing allison's coffee from her hand. "irrelevant" he begun to walk away, downing majority of the cup in one long chug, limping slightly.

he turned back to look at them once he was finished, "so, the apocalypse is in three days" he took a deep breath, "the only chance we have to save our world is well.. us"

"the umbrella academy" luther realised like it hadn't been obvious in the first place.

"yeah, but with me obviously. so, if ya'll don't get your side show acts together and get over yourselves we're screwed. who cares if dad messed us up. are we going to let that define us? no" he sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. "but to give us a fighting chance to see next week, i've come back with a lead. we know who's responsible for the apocalypse"

he handed the paper over to allison and everyone bar five leaned over to see. "this is who we have to stop" allison urgently unfolded the paper, four words written in the middle.

'reassignment: protect harold jenkins'

"harold jenkins?" allison read the paper over and over, confused.

diego looked up at five now, "who the hell is harold jenkins?"

they waited in suspense as five finished off the coffee before chucking the cup away behind him, frowning. "i don't know.. yet. but i do know that he's responsible for the apocalypse. so we have to find him and we have to do it now"

"but how is he connected to what's going to happen?" luther's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"i don't know"

"wait, so you just know his name? that's it?" diego remarked in disbelief.

"that's enough" five continued to try and push his point.

diego took a step forward, raising an eyebrow, "there's probably dozens of harold jenkins' in the city"

"well, we just better start looking then"

"i'm sorry, am i the only one who's skeptical here?" allison begun but y/n wasn't interested in her sibling's doubts.

y/n watched as five winced, hand twitching at his side as he went to reach for his abdomen. he was injured..

"i mean, how exactly do you know all of this about what's his name?"

"harold jenkins" five sneered, he was growing frustrated, "you know those lunatics in mass who attacked the house?"

"oh yeah i think i remember those guys" klaus reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, moving to sit down again. he gently pulled y/n down with him, forcing her to take a seat beside him.

"yeah, the ones that attacked us while you were getting drunk" diego stared back at five, pointedly.

"yeah, them." five nodded, "they were sent by the temps commission to stop me from coming back and preventing the end of life on earth"

"the temps what?" allison frowned,

"my former employer. they monitor all of time and space to make sure that whatever is supposed to happen, happens" klaus glanced at y/n, leaning on his hand and looking like a bored child in school. she stifled a laugh, barely preventing a smile from blooming on her lips. this was supposed to be serious.

"and they believe the apocalypse is coming in three days, so i went to commission headquarters and intercepted a mission that was meant for said lunatics. protect harold jenkins. so he must be responsible for the apocalypse" it was silent for a moment as everyone soaked in the information.

y/n and klaus ignored diego, allison and luther's remarks, not believing what five had been telling them. y/n sat up, leaning to watch as klaus' eye's blurred.

"my skin is on fire" he murmured,

gently, she raised a hand to his arm, "you alright?" he just stared back at her.

"do you have any idea how insane this sounds?" allison's question brought back their attention.

"you know what else is insane?" five looked up from checking his stomach, "i look like a sixteen year old boy" he pointed a finger at his head before gesturing to klaus and y/n on the couch, "klaus talks to the dead, y/n's eyes turn black and luther thinks he's fooling everybody with that overcoat" they all glanced at luther, "everything about us is insane"

"he's got a point there" klaus nodded along,

"we didn't choose this life, we're just living it. for the next three days anyway" five shrugged,

"but the last time we tried to stop it, we all died. why is this time any different? why shouldn't i go home to my daughter?" allison argued,

"because this time i'm here" five's voice grew quieter, pleading his siblings to help. "we have the name of the man responsible, guys we have the chance of saving the lives of billions of people"

there was a pause as everyone mulled over the idea, considering it. "including claire" five pushed,

allison shifted, arms crossed before her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "you know her name?" she asked softly,

"i do" five sighed, "and i'd like to live long enough to meet her"

allison nodded, agreeing. "alright. let's get this bastard"

"you had me at jarold jenkins" diego shrugged, already in.

"harold.. jenkins" five corrected,

"whatever" diego rolled his eyes, looking between them, "i've already lost two people this week, i'm not losing anyone else"

"luther?" five turned to the tallest sibling,

"yeah, you guys go, i'm gonna stay behind and go through dad's files" he stepped forwards and they all looked at him in disbelief, "i still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the moon"

y/n scoffed quietly, why was he still hung up on that when they had the name of the person responsible?

"seriously? now you want to make the end of the world about you and dad?" diego raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

" 'watch for threats', that's what he told me" luther asserted, "you think that's a coincidence? this all has to be connected"

"yeah, whatever, let's just go. do what you need to do, big boy" y/n stood, shakily. she patted a hand on luther's arm as she passed by.

"we should all stick together" allison tried but five and diego disagreed, following after y/n.

"klaus you're with me" diego called out to sleepy man y/n had left on the couch.

"yeah, i-i-i'm good, i think i'll- uh" he wobbled as he stood, "i think i'll pass and.. i'm feeling a little under the weather so um.." he stumbled past diego and y/n, leaving the parlour.

————————————————–

as they drove to where diego knew he could find harold jenkins' details, y/n let her head lull back against the car seat. allison frowned at her, sending her worried glances.

"are you okay?" she finally asked, gaining everyone's attention, "you don't look so good.."

"'m fine" she shook it off, waving a hand half-heartedly.

"you look sick" five raised an eyebrow at her, glancing back to her seat.

"i'm fine" she stated, much firmer. "just had a weird dream, that's all"

allison blanched, "a weird dream? what do you mean?"

"i don't know.. it just feels like a memory. i can see everyone so vividly, i know how everything feels and yet.. it's not real" y/n's eyes lost focus, remembering the visions she seemed to be having. she shook her head after a moment, sighing. "i'm fine, it's fine"

"if you say so.." allison frowned again but let it go, they had more important things going on. it was silent for a moment until diego spoke up.

"hey, y/n?"

"yeah?"

"do you remember when we were kids.. that time klaus and i found you in the library" he begun, "you said you were looking for five?"

"mm, yeah, what about it?" she nodded, ignoring five's surprise.

"you said you couldn't speak to him but.. surely something happened? you spent years looking" allison glanced between the three of them, confused.

"hold on! you told dad you couldn't find him, we heard you tell him it was useless" her eyebrows were furrowed,

five turned around, frowning. "you lied?"

"well, yeah" she nodded, "i told him i couldn't find you and he just.. gave up. i didn't really train again after that. i spent my time searching for you in the library, i found you several times but i could never say anything, i was like a.. a ghost"

"you were there..?"

"i couldn't communicate, i couldn't touch anything, i just went through you every time i tried anything. but then i touched that mannequin and well.. you talked to me and i still couldn't talk to you.. it was hard but i knew you were okay" she sighed, "you showed me your equations too and i used to study those, i looked everywhere for vanya's novel, you know? it wasn't until it was released that i realised how far ahead you were"

as they all thought over her words diego pulled over to the police station.

"i know this jenkins' dude has to have a record" he glanced out the window, looking around. "we just got to get our hands on this file"

"and your plan is to what? waltz in there and just ask for it?" allison leaned forward, raising an eyebrow.

"i know this station like the back of my hands" diego continued to look before turning to her, "i spent a lot of time on the inside of it"

"handcuffed" y/n reminded,

"whatever. here's the plan-" he begun,

"plan?" five stared at him in confusion, "i'm just going to blink in and get the file"

"no that's not- you don't know the ins and outs of this place, okay?" diego stopped him,

"i literally just did this yesterday"

"what?" allison and y/n shared a look of disbelief,

"my yesterday.. not your yesterday- look, it'll take me two seconds"

"listen to me. you are not going in" diego glanced back out the window. "i made a call. that's what a leader does, he leads"

y/n rolled her eyes, leaning closer to allison to see the street.

————————————————–

while diego was meeting whoever he had called, y/n, five and allison headed to use the pay phone.

y/n leaned back against the wall, trying to block out allison's words. she didn't need to hear her talk with vanya. she didn't want to hear her talk with vanya. she was afraid vanya was slipping too far away from them.

she kept her head down, trying to clear her mind. everything still felt fuzzy. was she really sick? did she have a fever dream? but.. it couldn't be, right? she was so clear, so vivid, so.. real.

and what about their kiss? she could still remember it, clear as day. why, why, why couldn't she distinguish between reality and a dream? maybe she really was imaging things.. but she didn't want to.

she didn't want to accept that she was just a dream.

she was real.

at least..

she felt real..

y/n felt a nudge on her shoulder. blinking, she realised her eyes were brimming with tears. she blinked them away before glancing up at five. she ignored his worried glance, instead looking up at diego who had just come back, file in hand.

"so?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at it.

"you're welcome" diego smirked at five, handing the form back to allison.

she snatched it from his hand, not a fan of their competitiveness. as she opened the file, she flicked through the pages for a moment before freezing.

"holy shit" she cursed, staring at the photo. five and y/n leaned in to see.

"what?" diego asked,

"harold jenkins is leonard peabody"

tag list: (if your name is crossed i couldnt tag you) @rxses-and-reverie @lostgreekgod @on-yourmark-99 @bicyhot1 @navs-bhat @midnightmystic @shawkneecaps @baby-bi-bi-bi-yeah @velveticxyyy @hehehehannahthings @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual sknf @bex-tk1 @maddiesweet @takottai

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starkerhowlter · 2 years

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I'm Not Sick

Ship: Starker

Rating: T

Contains: stubborn!Tony, Language, a brief discussion of Flu testing

Initial prompt: "a fluffy sick fic! With someone taking care of the other!"

Words: 1,242

Summary: "I'm not sick, Peter!" "Friday, what's his temp?" "101.2 degrees Fahrenheit." "mhm."

Beta'd by and dedicated to my favorite human in the world ever: @cozysafechaotic. I love you lots, keep being amazing 💕

Read it on AO3

Peter knows. He's known from the moment they woke up this morning to right now. From the way that Tony pushed away his gluten-free waffles, to the way he fell asleep at his desk. Tony's sick.

After the fifth cough, Peter sighs, "Tony, you're sick."

"I am not!" He coughs again. "There's just something in my throat, that's all!" He takes another sip of water, "I'm fine, babe!" The younger rolls his eyes but turns back to his work, deciding that the man's an adult and can take care of himself.

That is, until four hours later when the man's head hits the desk. "Shit, Tony!" Peter drops his wrench, jumps over the desk, and rushes to the man's side, "Are you okay?" His heart finally catches up with him, and he begins shaking the man gently.

The man raises his head, looking at Peter with a glare, flailing his hands. "I'm fine. I'm not sick! But Fuck, my head hurts."

"I wouldn't expect it to not, you just hit a stainless steel counter and a piece of titanium. I would expect you to have quite the headache! But you do need to go to bed, you're sick."

"No, I'm not!" Tony exclaims, indignant noise slipping out before he can stop it.

"Hey, FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"What's Tony's temperature?"

"101.2 degrees Fahrenheit. A low-grade fever." The robotic voice replies, "Mr. Stark is also showing symptoms of Influenza Type-A."

"That's what I thought. " Peter crosses his arms matter-of-factly and raises his eyebrow. "Now, do I need to escort you to bed or can you make it there yourself while I make you some soup?"

"I'm not sick!" He complains but rises from the desk. "But I will go to bed because you asked me to."

"Go, then." Peter nods, watching the man disappear into the elevator, and for it to ding before going to the kitchen. He turns on the lights before digging in the pantry and finding a can of Italian Wedding Soup. He quickly pours the soup into a bowl and shoves it into the microwave, quickly pressing the four button. He shoots Stephen a text asking if the man could come over with a few tests, and medicine for the older. The timer goes off before he receives an answer.

Peter knocks lightly, before entering their shared bedroom and pressing a damp cloth to the inventor's forehead. "Glad to see you listened to me. Did you get changed into pajamas?"

"Yep," Tony replies, sitting up in bed.

"I made you soup." Peter passes the boy his bowl, "Be careful, it's hot. Also, Stephen is going to come and do some tests on you and figure out what you have wrong with you."

"I told you I'm not --" The man breaks into coughs before he can finish his sentence. "Fuck. Sick. I'm not sick." He takes a bit of the soup into his spoon, sipping it. "Is this my mama's recipe? Oh, it tastes just like being back in Italy" Tony's voice breaks at the end of the statement, sounding almost childlike.

"It's... It's from a can, babe," he admits, "I wouldn't have been able to make your Mama's recipe in that time. I'm sorry. At least now we know you are sick. A healthy Tony wouldn't accept anything less than real Italian Wedding Soup."

"It's okay. This is perfect." The man tilts his head up, asking silently for a kiss.

"Yeah, not gonna happen, honey. You're sick."

"Am not!"

"Tony, you just ate soup from a can. Yes, you are. And I can't cuddle with you, because I can still get sick."

"Babe, we sleep in the same bed, you probably already have it." He sneezes, causing Peter to chuckle lightly.

"Let's not test that theory, I'm going to go wait for Stephen downstairs, eat your soup and watch some TV, and no. doing. work!"

"This is a punishment!" Tony exclaims, "What else do you expect me to do?! Lay here and wither?"

"Maybe, if it means you'll hush," Peter laughs walking out.

"You're a cold one, Parker," The older shouts as the door clicks shut.

About 30 minutes later, Stephen knocks on the door, mask, and gloves already in place. "Where is he?" He asks Peter.

"He's upstairs, follow me." Peter opens the door wider and leads the doctor up the stairs. "Wait here, I'm gonna make sure he's awake."

"Sure! Just let me know when to come in."

Peter knocks gently, before opening the door, "Hi, honey, Stephen's here to give you your flu test." Tony groans, sitting upright on the edge of the bed. Peter nods and opens the door, allowing the doctor in.

"Hi, Tony!" Stephen tries, "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit on fire."

"Alrighty, well hopefully we can get you feeling right as rain again quickly. I'm going to do a flu test on you though, just to confirm Friday's reading that Peter told me she had. I'm going to access your medical file before we begin."

"Okay, whatever just get it over with..." Tony complains, leaning back against Peter.

The two watch as Stephen pulls up Tony's health reports and checks his heart, blood pressure, and does a basic checkup. "Alright, this next part will need Peter's help. Just to ensure you don't punch me."

"Alright, I trust you, Strange." The man nods at Peter, instructing Tony to look up slightly.

"Okay, I need Peter to hold your arms back and stay still or it'll hurt." Tony nods, nervously complying with the instructions. "Ready, Left first." The man takes the long swab and begins the Flu test, before doing the same on the other side. "Alright, Tony, it'll take about five minutes for this to cultivate, and let me know if you have the flu, as FRIDAY suggests. I will be back shortly." Stephen opens a portal, stepping through into the Avenger's health lab, and closing the portal.

"Fuck that was uncomfortable." Tony groans, leaning his head back onto his young boyfriend's shoulder.

"You're so dramatic, but yes. It's usually uncomfortable," Peter chuckles, wrapping his arms around the man's chest instead of biceps. "Why don't you eat more of your soup while we wait."

The inventor nods, picking up the bowl and consuming more of the warm food. Peter presses a kiss to his temple, as they wait patiently for the results.

It feels like forever when Stephen returns to their room, piece of paper in hand. "Well, Tony," he begins, "It's nothing serious, but it is Flu type A, good ol H1N1. Luckily your records say you got vaccinated about two months ago, so you should be just fine. If something starts feeling bad, or your symptoms get unbearable, let me know. Go ahead and take this and you should feel better soon." Stephen hands Peter a box of oseltamivir and the report before walking out.

"Thank you, Stephen!" Peter chirps, shaking his hand and leading him out of the penthouse.

"Now, you need some rest for the next few days while you take your medicine. I will bring you dinner in a few hours." He kisses Tony's forehead, before turning off the lights and leaving the room.

Around two weeks later, Tony's better and back in the lab. The two know no personal space and are working on projects for hours on end. Everything is perfect once again in their little world.

And then Peter sneezes.

All My Fics

#nika writes #starker #tony x peter #comfort fanfic #sick fanfic

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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 years

Text

Love and Medicine ~ 14

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 5,000ish

Summary: Just another day at the medical center, right? (Based off Grey’s Anatomy)

Heading back into the hospital, you went straight for Natasha’s room. The other interns were already in there, surrounding her bed.

“Hey,” you smiled, walking over to her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she responded. “I’m okay.”

You grabbed her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. She needed to know that you were there for her, but you weren’t going to push her into talking about something she wasn’t ready to talk about.

~~~

You slammed down a shot, needing to feel the alcohol rush down your throat.

“How was Nat when you left, Scott?” Val asked, bringing more drinks over.

“She said she was okay, again,” he responded with a slight shrug.

“Nobody goes what she went through and is totally over it by now.”

“Natasha can.”

“She’s fine,” you added, taking another shot.

“Too fine,” Val said. “She’s cold.”

“No, she’s hardcore,” Clint said. “She’s got ice in her veins. She does what she has to do to get through it.”

“She lost a baby. She lost a fallopian tube and she’s acting like she doesn’t even care. She’s acting like she has no emotions or warmth, like she’s missing a soul.”

“She’s gonna make a great surgeon.”

“Clint!”

“It’s true. You show no weakness, you make it to the top.”

“Some people just keep their feelings to themselves,” you commented.

Your eyes were on the door, where Steve had just walked in. If he noticed you, he didn’t make it noticeable. You watched as he walked over to the bar and sat beside Gamora. Steve ordered a drink from Happy before talking to Gamora. Too bad you were too far away to hear them.

“Y/N kissed me,” Steve told Gamora. “Peggy kissed me… My wife and my girlfriend kissed me on the same day.”

“Happy, do I look friend to you?” Gamora asked.

“Oh, you’re a tiny little kitten of joy and love,” Happy responded, only for Gamora to make a face. “What? He saved my life.”

“His first mistake.” She took a sip of her drink. “Captain McDreamy, go sit by someone who cares.”

“Oh gee,” Steve mocks hurt, but doesn’t make a move to go. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Peggy will leave. Y/N and I will start over. Everything’s gonna be fine. Right?”

“You are so damn stupid.”

~~~

“With Natasha out, I need everyone focused today,” Gamora told her group of interns as you all headed off to rounds. “I have a feeling it’s gonna be be one of those days and since we’re short an intern, you do not want to get on my bad side.”

“When are we not on her bad side?” You whispered to Clint.

“Speak for yourself,” he replied with a scoff. “Scott and I are her favorites.”

The group walked into their first patients room. The woman was sitting on the bed, enthralling a group of hospital workers with a tell.

“So we're in the middle of the Belizean jungle and this jaguarondi jumps out and bites one of the guides,” the woman says. “They all look at me. They're yelling, "You're a doctor, help him!" This is one time a PhD does no good.” The people laugh.

“Sorry,” Gamora interrupted, “did I miss the memo about social hour?” Everyone quickly began leaving besides your group.

“Tales of missionary life,” the woman explained.

“You’re a missionary?” Val asked.

“No, my parents. We traveled a lot. Well, they still do.”

“Lang, tell me about our patient,” Gamora ordered.

“Okay, um, this is Dr. Banner’s patient, Talya,” Scott explained. “She, uh, presents with multiple syncopal episodes and ventricular arrhythmias.”

“So you’ve been passing out?” Gamora asked.

“Yeah,” Talya confirmed, “and having palpitations.”

“Talya has past medical history of rheumatic heart disease with mitral valve stenosis,” Scott added.

“They had to ship me from Zambia to the States for 3 months of treatment when I was 8,” Tayla said. “Rheumatic fever almost killed me.”

“Someone please tell me what the primary causes of ventricular arrhythmias are,” Gamora said.

Before anyone in the room could responded, Natasha appeared in the doorway. She leaned up against it in her hospital gown with her IV stand.

“Valvular disease, mitral valve prolapse, stimulants, drugs, and metabolic abnormalities,” Natasha answered.

“Out!” Gamora ordered.

“I’m fine.”

“Out! And you better be in your bed by the time we round on you!”

“And when will that be?”

“In 15 seconds. 14. 13. 13. 11.”

Natasha turned around to head to her room, revealing her underwear through her nightgown. The group of interned laughed.

“Nice panties, Romanoff!” Peter laughed.

Natasha flips him the bird as she keeps waking. “In your dreams, Quill.”

They followed Natasha into the room, where she huffed as she got back into bed.

“L/N,” Gamora called.

“Right,” you responded. “Natasha Romanoff. Post-op day 3 from a unilateral salpingectomy.”

“And ready to get back to work,” Natasha said. “I'm taking solids and my pain is controlled with oral meds. I'm ready.”

“Well, it says here on your chart on you had a fever?”

“Y/N,” Nat growled.

“Natasha, did you have a fever?” Gamora questioned.

“Temp spiked to 101 last night. Big deal.”

“She worked 2 shifts last month with a 102 degree flu,” Clint added.

“Yes! Exactly, Clint. Thank you.”

“And we appreciate your dedication but you're staying in bed until it normalizes,” Gamora said. “You need to relax, shut up, and get better. You're a patient this week so you can be a doctor next week. Understand?”

“I understand,” Natasha grumbled.

~~~

Rounds had finished as you were heading to your assignment when you ran into Steve near the elevators.

“Skipping rounds?” He wondered.

“No,” you replied. “They just finished.” You kept walking, when Steve took your arm to stop you.

“Y/N…”

“You’ve got a wife.”

“Yes.”

“You’re life is complicated.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need more complicated. I have that all on my own.”

“Yes.”

“Stop saying yes.”

Steve smiled. “I’m trying not to make any sudden movements.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Peggy’s leaving. She doesn’t have any more patients. There’s no reason for her to be here.”

“No reason? Really?”

“No really whatsoever.”

Steve stepped closer, bringing his hand up to brush your cheek. You stood there, trying to not let it get to your head or, well, anywhere else. Suddenly, Peggy appeared.

“Well now, isn’t this cozy?” She said. “Can I join in or are you not into threesomes?”

“I have to go,” you said, rushing away. You didn’t go too far, interested to watch everything unfold.

“Y/N…” Steve called with a sign. He turned to Peggy. “You really are Satan. You realize that right? If Satan were to take physical form, he'd be you. Everywhere, all the time.”

“I am so not Satan,” Peggy responded.

“How come you haven't got on your broomstick and gone back to where you belong?”

“Stop being petty.”

“Stop being an adulterous bitch.”

“You know, you are going forgive me eventually, right? I mean you can't just ... I mean there was a time when you thought of me as your best friend.”

“There was a time where I thought you were the love of my life. Things change.”

Peggy sighed and pulled some papers out of her bag, handing them to Steve. Steve quickly flipped through them.

“Divorce papers,” he said.

“Your lawyer said they're ok. I haven't signed them yet. The ball's in your court. If you sign, I'll sign. I'll sign and be on the first plane out of here.”

“I'll sign them immediately. I want you out of here as soon as possible.”

“Steve, have you ever thought that, even if I am Satan and an adulterous bitch, that I still might be the love of your life?”

Not answering, Steve walks away, completely not noticing you listening in from behind a pillar.

“What are we looking at?” Tony asked, appearing out of nowhere.

“Ah!” You exclaimed, jumping slightly. “Don’t do that!” You playfully hit him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. “I just saw you over here and I was interested in seeing what you were observing.”

“I think… I think Peggy just handed Steve divorce papers.”

“Really? That actually surprises me. I thought she would put in a little more of a fight.”

“Yeah…”

“I guess that’s good news for you, right?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I want him to choose me because of me, not because of a divorce.”

“In my ever humble opinion, I think it will always be you. Trust me. That man is whipped.”

~~~

Natasha snuck out of her room and stole her chart. She sat in her bed as she made changes to it. Walking by, Banner looked in and noticed that no one else was in there. He quickly took the chart of Nat.

“Hey! That’s my chart,” Natasha complained.

“You're the patient. Not the doctor. Act like one,” Bruce reprimands as he studies her chart. “It's been tough finding you alone.”

“Yeah? Well…”

“How are you doing?”

“Well, you have my chart, you tell me.”

He sighed. “Natasha, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Perfectly okay.”

“I had a right to know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Natasha—“

“Look. Now you know. It’s over. There’ soothing for you to deal with. So I don’t know what else there really is left to say.”

“Plenty. For starters you could've come to me—“

“And what? We could have raised it together? Or you could have held my hand when I got the abortion? I did not need any of that. I’m an intern.”

“Nat—“

“Can you just go? I need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

~~~

Gamora called you to help her with a patient. You two walked into the patient room together, revealing a younger man on the bed.

“I thought I told you I never want to see you again,” Gamora said to the patient.

“That's only cause you're too lazy to learn anything more,” the man responded.

“Dr. Y/N L/N, this is Nick Tate. He thinks he knows so much cause he was one of my first patient's as an intern.”

“I knew as much as she did. She was clueless about how to treat cystic fibrosis. A simple cholecystectomy turned into a month-long stay.”

“Better not be alleging malpractice. Guy raises about a 100 grand a year for cystic fibrosis, running triathlons. Thinks he's a big shot.”

“Wait, you run triathlons?” You questioned, confused how it could as a patient with cystic fibrosis.

“Yeah, why not?” He responded.

“It’s a pain for one,” Gamora replied, flipping through the chart. “Says here you're finally admitting to feeling a little unwell?”

“A little.”

“How little? Truth.”

“Oh, enough to keep me awake at night. Had some seizures. Um, too weak to work out.”

“Anyone been through here with your CT results?”

“No. It's probably just my pancreatitis kicking up again.”

“All right then. We'll be back. With your results and a plan.” Gamora walked to the door, with you following. She glanced back at Nick. “Huh, where do your parents think you are this time?”

He smiled. “Hmm, San Diego.”

Gamora shakes her head as you follow her the rest of the way out of the room.

“What about his parents?” You asked. “Shouldn’t he, or we, tell them?”

“No, he doesn't like to bother them until he's well or about to get discharged. He understands his reality. He just chooses to ignore it. Denial works for him, L/N.”

~~~

After Bruce had left, it only took Natasha two minutes to have found blue scrubs and change into them. She took out her IV and snuck out to the nurses station. She began looking through patient charts. The head nurse, Phil Coulson, found her like that.

“Where’s your IV?” He asked, looking at her with a disappointed father face.

“I've taken solids. I HEP-locked it,” Natasha replied.

“On whose orders?”

“Mine.”

“Okay.” Phil quickly found her chart and began reading it. “Romanoff. How about this order: best rest, out of bed to chair, bathroom privileges. Nothing about stealing charts at the nurses station.”

“Okay, you know what….” She quickly looked around to find a nearby empty wheelchair. She brought it over and sat down in it. “There, satisfied? I’m out of bed to chair.”

“I’m telling your intent on you.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.”

She wheeled off with a patient chart, heading to Tayla’s room. When she arrived, she witnessed Tayla, by herself, taking a pill.

“I saw that!” Natasha exclaimed from her wheelchair in the doorway. “I saw you take that pill.”

“Oh it's, it's my pill,” Tayla excused. “You know... the pill.”

Natasha quickly looked over the chart. “It’s not at all in your chart and you are supposed to tell us the meds you are on.”

“You’re not my doctor. You shouldn't even be here.”

“She’s right,” Val said, appearing from behind. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I saw her take unauthorized medication!” Natasha continued.

“Well, you’re unauthorized to be here.”

“I’m on the pill and I had grapefruit juice this morning,” Tayla explained. “Since the juice inhibits enzymes involved in the metabolism of OCPs, I thought I'd avoid the interaction by taking it two hours after my meal.”

“She's has a doctorate in neuropharmacology, Natasha.”

Natasha huffed, “Well, Val, I don’t see any place where oral contra—“

“Okay so now you will. Will you just go back to bed and stop bothering the other patients?”

Tayla’s heart monitor suddenly started racing, bringing the other women attentions to her. She fell to the floor, unconscious, and Val rushed to her.

“She’s in V-FIB!” Natasha said.

“Call the code,” Val ordered as she began compressions.

Natasha practically jumped out of her chair to call a code, which didn’t feel good. Val got Tayla back as the code team arrived.

“No code?” The nurse questioned.

“Not anymore,” Val answered. “Can you help get her back into bed.

“I’ll—I’ll help,” Natasha breathed got, struggling to get back to her wheelchair. “Just give me a minute.”

“Would you just go back to bed? Seriously, please just go.”

Natasha nodded as she finally made it to the wheelchair. “Just… if she’s on OCP’s, mark it down. Okay, Val?”

“Yeah.”

~~~

You had gotten Nick’s x-ray’s back and were currently putting them up to view them with Gamora by your side.

“Nick’s got a mass in his midepigastrium,” you explained. “Diffused enlargement of the pancreas. That, with his hypoglycemic seizures—“

“He's going to need an exploratory laparotomy. But, despite his triathlons, his lungs still make me hesitant to cut,” Gamora added.

“What are we going to do?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Doctors,” Peggy greeted.

“Dr. Carter-Rogers.”

“How old is he?” Peggy asked, studying the x-rays.

“26.”

“Survivor, huh?”

“And them some. My patient for at least 5 years. I'm not gonna lose him now.”

“You planning a laparotomy?”

“Hmm. You know, I think I could help you with this. I've seen one case like this before in a 9 year old. We ended up having to do a total pancreotectomy.”

“I'd be honored to take any help you can give me.”

“You’re a neonatal specialist,” you said. “What, uh… this isn’t your area.” Gamora looked at you, annoyed, as she shock her head. “I’m just saying that—“

“I did 2 years genetic research in cystic fibrosis,” Peggy told you. “I've pretty much seen it all, Dr. L/N.”

“Oh.”

~~~

Walking down the hall, Steve found you. Always trying his best to make a conversation with you. This time it was easy.

“Are you sure your wife is leaving?” You questioned. “She offered to help on the case Gamora has me working on.”

“Just because she offered her services doesn't mean she intends to stay,” Steve responded.

“Well, what does it mean? Because it seems to me—“

“It means that she's a good doctor.”

“Huh… why are you suddenly defending her?”

“I’m not. Y/N, she gave me divorce papers. She filed.”

“Good for you.”

“All I have to do is sign, and I’m free… We’re free.”

“Is there anything to think about?”

“No,” he shook his head, “of course not. I have to read through them, sign, then Peggy’s on the next plane out of here.” He grabbed your hands. “This is going to work.”

~~~

After the conversation he had with you, Steve immediately went searching for Gamora.

“Of all the fine doctors in the city, you accept a consult from Peggy Carter,” Steve said, angrily.

“Carter-Rogers, isn’t it?” Gamora retorted.

“The point is she should be on her way home. Are you purposefully trying to drive me crazy?”

“You think this has something to do with you?” Gamora’s voice was loud and upset. “You think I’m even thinking about you and your romantic problems? I’m trying to help a patient very near and dear to my heart. And if consulting with your wife—your ex—your mistress, what ever it is that she becomes! If that’s the thing I have to do to save my patient, them I’m damn well gonna do it.”

“I understand… and I totally deserve the yelling. It’s just that—“

“Just, you look! You have put yourself between two very fine women and you looking for an easy way out and you wanna use me, and the hospital and... somebody to make the decision for you, and it's not gonna happen!”

“Could I just… could I just say a couple of things?”

“No.” Gamora stormed off.

~~~

You found Natasha sitting in her bed, in her room. Thankfully. Though she was looking through another patient’s chart. You pulled a chair up to her bedside and sat down in it with a sigh.

“What’s your problem?” Natasha asked.

“Peggy gave Steve divorce papers, which is good. I mean she’s still here, being Peggy, but it’s not like I’m jealous or anything.”

“That’s odd.”

“It’s odd I’m not jealous?”

“No, you have every right to be jealous. It's your territory and she's peeing all over it.” Natasha went back to focusing on the chart in her hands. “What’s odd is Banner’s patient.”

“Tayla?”

“Yeah. She’s been in 4 other hospitals this year. You know something’s not right.”

“You seem awfully interested in Banner’s patient.”

“This has nothing to do with Bruce.”

“Natasha, you lost a fallopian tube, a baby and a boyfriend all in one day. You have the right to be upset.”

“And you’re losing Captain McDreamy to his perfect wife. You have the right to be jealous.”

“I did not lose Captain McDreamy. Divorce papers, remember? And I’m not jealous.”

“And I’m not upset. I really need to get out of here.”

“You’re on bedrest, remember?”

“Okay, if the situation was reversed, would you wanna spend time with your mother in a confined room with one window?”

“No. I guess not. But still. You need to stay put.”

Before Natasha could respond, your pager beeped. You looked down at it and groaned.

“I got to go,” you muttered, leaving.

“Good luck!”

~~~

Peggy and Gamora met you in Nick’s room. There you began explaining the surgery to him.

“We won't know for sure until we go in there, but it looks like that I'm going to have to take out your pancreas and re-route your intestines,” Peggy said.

Nick looked at Gamora. “Did you tell her that my lungs don't do well with anesthesia?”

“Don’t I always have your back?” Gamora retorted.

“Your kidney function is decreasing rapidly and I'm afraid you're gonna go into multi-system organ failure if we don't operate,” Peggy continued.

“If I say no?” Nick wondered.

“There’s no guarantees, Nick. You know that,” Gamora answered. “It's gonna be a long, hard surgery and put a lot of stress on your body.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “but I’m me.”

She smiled back. “But you’re you.”

“So if we don’t operate, I die. And if… we do operate, I may die.”

“Basically, yes,” Peggy responded.

“Well, I like those odds. And 26 years with this disease is awesome. And that's the reality. So if I get lucky ... great. And if I don’t…” Nick grabbed Gamora’s hand, “it’s been sweet.”

“It’s gonna stay sweet,” she replied.

~~~

Natasha was laying on her bed with her harm over her eyes when Clint walked into the room. Tayla’s chart was laid out on top of her.

“Why do you have that?” He asked.

“I’m working,” Nat answered. “Trying to figure out what’s going on with the crazy woman on four.”

“You are the crazy woman on four. Though, I have to say, you have a better patina than me and you don’t even really have a patient.” Clint plopped down in the chair next to her bed. “Y/N’s got a CF case. Peter has a gunshot wound. Val’s got the mystery arrhythmias. I have babysitting a crazy old lady! I’d rather do scut with Scott than this! I’m a surgeon. A cutter. I don’t want to be a fake surgeon! I want to be a real one!”

“She’s faking it,” Nat repeated to herself. She quickly got off the bed. “The missionary. Talya… Thank you!”

She patted Clint’s head as she walked by. Natasha headed straight for the nurses station, where she saw Val looking around for something.

“Val!” Natasha called. “How how Talya’s studies been?”

“Hey!” Val responded, not pleasantly as she took the chart from Nat. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that!”

“Negative, right?”

“Oh! The echo tests showed mild mitral stenosis, the tilt test was negative. We're doing EP studies.”

“I can tell you what's wrong with her without sticking electrodes in her heart.”

“Really. Just by the chart?”

“No, from the pill she took.”

“They were contraceptives, Natasha! Why are you so obsessed with this? Just go back to bed!”

“I think she’s doing this to herself.”

“You think she's inducing ventricular arrhythmias? She'd have to be crazy to do—“

“No, no, no. She'd have to have Munchausen’s.”

“Okay wait. You think she's secretly ingesting something to produce real symptoms? Seriously?”

“Yes. Run it by Banner and tell me what he thinks.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself. He is standing right behind you.” Val made eye contact with the man. “Dr. Banner.”

Then Val left. Leaving Natasha will Bruce. She sighed as Bruce guided her into the small office nearby before listening to her.

“I mean, she obviously loves the patient role. She practically lives in hospitals. And... and, and we're like an imaginary family to her because her really family blows her off to go take care of other people.... And, and I saw her take something.”

“It's not enough,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “We have to rule out everything else. Everything physical.”

“She even lied about her job. She's a pharmacy tech, not a PhD.”

“So she's a liar. I've been lied to before.”

“Hey, we're not talking about us here.”

“Maybe we should be.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“You withheld the truth from me. How was00”

“Okay, you know what? I distinctly remember you breaking things off with me. And you didn't seem so upset about it. And this?” She motioned between herself and Bruce. “This is, this is not a relationship. This is not real.”

“Natasha…”

“Okay, and, and so what's with the big display of fake hurt and drama?” She began walking out of the room.

“Natasha!”

“I’m supposed to be in bed.”

~~~

You absolutely did not want to be in surgery with Peggy. Yet there you were.

“I need more traction,” Peggy stated. “Dr. Y/N?” You quickly did as you were told.

“Here,” Gamora called, “give me some suction there.” So you did. “Now L/N, retract the duodenum. Good. How’s he doing Vis?”

Vis was keeping watch over Nick’s vitals and such. “Harder to ventilate and no urine output since we started,” Vis informed.

Peggy shook her head, “he’s shutting down.”

“Did you increase his peak pressures?” Gamora asked.

“Any higher, I blow his lungs,” Vis responded before the monitor beeped. “Bradycardia. Pushing 1 of atropine.”

“Try ventilating him manually,” Peggy ordered, “see if he starts coming back up.” Vis began pushing on a bag.

“Did we miss any bleeders?” Gamora wondered.

“The surgical field is clear.”

The monitor began beeping faster. “Agonal rhythm,” you said.

“Any pulse with that?” Gamora asked.

“No carotid,” Vis answered.

“Okay, starting CPR.” Gamora handed over her tools and begun CPR. “Push one of EPI.”

“No extraordinary measures, Gamora,” Peggy warned. “He’s DNR.”

“No this is just good medicine.” Sh continued CPR, almost frantically. “Come on! Come on! Don’t give up. Come on.”

“You’re getting tired,” you noted. “Let me take over, Dr. Gamora.” She nodded, letting you quickly switch her places.

“Gamora, his intestines are cyanotic,” Peggy stated. “There’s no blood circulating.”

“It’s been shunted to his brain where he needs it,” Gamora responded as she studied your CPR form. “You call those compressions.” She shoved you to the side and took over CPR. You and Peggy made eye contact, worried. “Fight it. Come on.” Peggy looked around, shaking her head, and everyone stopped what they were doing. All but Gamora. “Why isn’t anyone moving? Whose recording?”

“It's been ten minutes since we've had a perfusing rhythm.” Peggy goes to stop Gamora but is shrugged off. The monitor flat lines. “It’s your call, Gamora.”

Taking a shaky inhale, Gamora stopped. She pulled off her mask as the monitor continues to flat line. “Asystole.” She looked up at the clock. “Time of death: 19:35.”

Gamora rushed out of the OR, trying not to cry. She went straight to the sinks and began cleaning her hands furiously. She paused when she noticed people covering up Nick’s body. Peggy walked in and started washing her hands as well, with you following. You both eyed Gamora a few times, worried. Soon, she left.

Peggy sighed. “It’s hard to accept the end when you’re too close.” She looked down as she slipped her wedding ring back onto her finger. She noticed you watching. “Look, I don't want someone who doesn't want me, Y/N. But if there's the slightest chance that he does, I'm not leaving New York.”

~~~

Val walked into Natasha’s room, not excited for the news she was about to tell her.

“Well?” Natasha asked.

“You were right,” Val sighed. “Talya definitely suffers from Munchausen’s.”

“See I was right…. I was right…” She closed her eyes. “I was right…” Nat began to cry. “I was right. I was… I was right. Oh… I’m—I’m—“ She let out a sob. “I’m right. I’m—I’m right.”

Val looked out of the room to see Clint walking by. “Clint! Page Y/N!”

Clint hurried in. “Why? What—what’s happening? What did you do to her?”

“She just started crying and I don’t know what to do!”

“I’ll get one of the nurses to page, Y/N.” Clint rushed out.

“Natasha,” Val tried, slowly coming closer. “Natasha, calm down.”

“The nurses paged her!” Clint came rushing back in.

“It’s okay, Nat.” Val went in for a hug, only for Nat to shrink away and cry harder. “Okay, okay. I won’t hug you.”

“What’s going on?” You came running in, panicked.

“I can’t stop!” Nat cried. “I can’t—-I can’t stop…”

“Crying,” Val finished for her. “She can’t stop crying.”

“I can’t see that!” You replied. “What did you guys do to her?”

“Nothing!”

“She’s going to dehydrate,” Clint said. “Nat, do you want some water?”

Nat shook her head, “no, no…” You tried to go in for a hug, only to be pulled away.

“NO!” Clint and Val exclaimed.

“I already tried that,” Val said. “It just made it worse.” Clint tentatively handed Nat a tissue.

“Natasha,” you tried again.

“Make—make it stop,” Natasha sobbed. “Make it stop… Somebody sedate me!”

“What’s going on in here?” Bruce asked, walking in. He was dressed like he was about to leave. There was clear concern etched on his face.

“We can’t get her to stop crying,” you replied.

“Y/N, get everyone else out of here.” Bruce was taking off his jacket. “Watch the door.”

You nodded, quickly ushering Clint and Val out. They voiced protests, but willing left. You shut the door behind you and watched. Peeking through the window, you watched as Bruce got in the bed beside Nat. He wrapped his arms around her and brought her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Natasha willingly curled into him, welcoming his comfort. You sighed and turned away, leaning against the door to keep watch. Steve noticed you and came up.

“Hey,” he smiled.”

“Hey.”

“When are you off?”

“Uh,” you glanced at your watch, “in about an hour. Why?”

“Meet me at Happy’s when you get off.” He started walking backwards, sly smirk on his lips. “Don’t be late.”

~~~

Steve and you arrived at Happy’s bar at the same time. He gave you a smile as he held the door open for you. You walked over to an empty table, Steve close behind.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” you said.

“Me too,” Steve replied. He set it briefcase on his chair. “Want a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Turning around, Steve knocked his briefcase onto the ground. A stack of papers slipped out.

“I’ve got it,” Steve quickly said, bending down.

“I’ll get it,” you said, picking up the papers.

You glance at the papers as you stand back up. There his divorce papers, that he has yet to sign.

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obeyme-kaidii-writes · 3 years

Text

Sick

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3275

Content warnings - fluff, crack, my attempt at humor, adult humor I guess? but no smut

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon gets sick and MC cares for him

Summary - Mammon gets a very minor case of the sniffles and is determined to milk it for all its worth. But he doesn’t realize you know exactly what he’s up to and have a plan of your own in mind.

AO3

It’s not often demons get sick, you’ve been told. Since their bodies heal quicker and are generally more resilient than humans, they are much better at fighting off disease.

So imagine Mammon’s surprise when he woke up one morning, shivering. Yes, he sleeps au natural, but his body temp runs warm to begin with and he kept plenty of sheets and blankets on his bed to keep him nice and snug. If he bundled up right, he’d create his own little cocoon of warmth that he was always reluctant to leave.

But this morning he was cold. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling he decided he should text you and ask you to bring him something to drink.

Of course he wasn’t really after the drink.

He was after your attention.

It’s not often demons get sick after all...and he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

As you headed towards Mammon’s room with the bottle of water he requested, you were a bit annoyed with him. You couldn’t figure out why your boyfriend couldn’t get it himself, and it was way too early in the morning on a Saturday for you to get out of bed. But you figured if he was going to wake you up, the least he could do was let you climb into bed with him and steal his warmth. It seemed like a pretty fair trade.

Only when you got to his room, he didn’t greet you like normally. Instead, you heard a faint coughing sound coming from his bed. Thinking maybe his throat was just dry and that’s why he begged for the water, you headed over to him and sat down on the edge of his bed. Mammon finally rolled over partway to face you, and you immediately noticed how flushed his cheeks looked.

“Thanks,” he said, weakly.

“Are you ok?” you asked, handing him the water and reaching out to touch his forehead. He seemed a bit warm to your touch, but you had no idea what a demon fever was supposed to feel like so you couldn’t tell if he was running one.

“I’m jus’ tired. And a little sore. Nothin’ The Great Mammon can’t handle,” he replied, coughing again, before taking a sip of his water.

“Maybe I should get Lucifer?”

“No!”, he yelped, with a surprising amount of energy, causing you to raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“I mean...it’s jus’...” more weak coughing, “I’ll be fine if you’re here. Prolly just a cold ya know?” He offered you a weak smile.

“A...cold…?” Do demons even get colds? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You knew it was possible for them to get sick, but you heard it happened so rarely you honestly didn’t think you’d ever get to see it for yourself. You were about to ask if it was ok to talk to Barbatos at least, but a tiny niggling feeling at the back of your mind told you not to say anything out loud for now and just to text him later.

“Can ya just...hold me?” Mammon asked, looking at you with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage.

Ok, something was definitely up, you thought.

“Sure babe, let me just get some stuff from my room and I’ll be right back.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before standing up and leaving his room. As soon as his door closed behind you, you pulled out your DDD and sent Barbatos a text, hoping he might already be up early. And fortunately for you, he was.

"Hey Barb. Kinda an odd question but can demons get colds?” “Not usually. It would be exceedingly rare. Is one of the brothers sick?” “Mammon says he has a cold. But I don’t know enough to tell how bad it is.” “Can you tell if he’s running a fever?” “He seemed warm and a little flushed. If he was a human I would say he had a low grade fever. Nothing serious.” “Ah. He will be fine in that case. Demonic fevers run very hot to the touch. You would know immediately if there was cause for concern.” “Thanks Barb. You’re a lifesaver.” “It’s not a problem at all. You can message me anytime.”

With a better understanding of Mammon’s ‘condition’ under your belt, you felt relieved to know it wasn’t anything serious. But that still left you to figure out what exactly to do for him. Should you just pretend you were none the wiser and indulge him? Or should you call him out on it?

You continued thinking about this as you gathered up your things - a book, your DDD charger...when a brilliant idea struck you. You knew just what to do to make your poor, sick demon boyfriend feel better.

————

“Hey Mammon, I’m back. Sorry it took so long,” you announced as you entered his room, carrying a large bag. You carefully sat it down on top of Mammon’s pool table and began to unpack.

“What’s all that?”, he asked. Mammon had rolled over on his side to watch you.

“Oh just some human realm cold remedies. I thought I could take care of you like how my family used to take care of me. I’m not sure how effective some of this stuff will be, but at least it’ll make you feel better.”

You turned around and gave Mammon a brilliant smile, and he relaxed into his bed, pulling his blankets snug around him. You were such a good human, looking after him like this. He almost felt guilty for making you work so hard for his sake when he wasn’t all that sick. Almost.

“Where’d ya get all that stuff?”

“Oh Barbatos helped me out. Turns out Lord Diavolo has quite the collection of human things stashed away in his castle. Food too. I guess it was part of his research and preparation for the exchange program,” you said with a shrug.

“Barb?” Mammon tensed up imagining Barbatos talking to Diavolo, who would certainly talk about his “illness” with Lucifer. And he really doubted Lucifer would let him get away with this if he knew.

“Don’t worry, he promised not to mention it to anyone for now. But he wants me to get back to him if you’re not better by the end of the day, because that could mean it’s something much more serious.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. Just need a day ta rest is all.”

Mammon wasn’t sure how he felt about you talking to Barbatos, but it seemed that the butler hadn’t blown his cover, for which he was grateful. Now all he had to do was sit back and enjoy your undivided affection and attention. All. Day. Long.

“Give me your feet,” you said, walking towards the foot of Mammon’s bed.

“Sure babe,” he replied, wiggling his feet free of the covers so you had easier access. You had never given him a foot rub before, and he was getting excited at the thought. This was the life.

His dreams were quickly dashed though, when he felt something cold, wet, and kinda slimy pressed to the bottom of his foot as you tugged some thick, wool socks over them.

“What the hell is that?!” he squeaked, trying his best to keep his voice down and not react too much. He didn’t want to give himself away after all.

“Oh this? It’s a home remedy. You put onions in your socks and it draws out the toxins in your body so you can recover faster,” without batting an eye, you moved on to his next foot.

Mammon really did not like how those socks felt on his feet with the onion slices against his skin. But if this was something you were doing to help him, then he guessed he could let you be. You were being so attentive, he really couldn’t complain.

“Alright, there you go. All wrapped up,” you said, patting the bottoms of Mammon’s feet, laughing inwardly when you noticed him flinch at the sensation, before tucking him back in.

“So can ya cuddle now?”, he asked, making sure to punctuate his sentence with a cough. He really wanted you to hold him and run your fingers through his hair like you always did. Maybe he could even convince you to give him a neck and a shoulder rub too.

“Of course.”

You grabbed a small thermos and your book from the pool table and then returned to his bed, climbing in next to him, “Here, this should help with your throat,” you said as you offered the thermos to Mammon.

He couldn’t help but smile at your thoughtfulness. You really were the best. He wasn’t expecting to get a nice warm drink, but you had gone above and beyond what he had hoped for. Propping himself up in the bed slightly, Mammon opened the thermos and poured himself a small serving.

Yummm, warmed milk, he thought.

But as soon as he took his first sip he realized something was wrong. Very very wrong. Not wanting to insult you after you had tried so hard, he forced himself to swallow, shivering as it went down.

“Err, babe...I think there is something wrong with the milk. It tastes umm...a little funny…?”

“Oh that must be the garlic,” you replied, giving Mammon a warm smile, “It helps with aches and pains, plus it’s supposed to help fight infections.” You returned to your book, careful to position it so that Mammon could not see the stupid grin that had now spread across your face.

“Right...umm...thanks…” Mammon looked down at the portion still left in the lid of the thermos and realized he had to drink at least that much if he was hoping to close the container at all. He gulped, and then decided to just treat it like a shot and tossed it back, trying his best to prevent it from lingering on his tongue any longer than possible.

As soon as he started to put the lid back in place however, you stopped him, “You need to drink all of it or it won’t work.”

“Ha...yeah...of course...makes sense,” Mammon chuckled nervously. The whole thing?! You really expected him to drink this whole thermos?? That had to be at least 4 other servings in there. He almost felt like crying at the thought, but then reminded himself that once he was done, he could get back to his comfort cuddling. If you offered him anything else later, he’d just have to tell you he was still full.

“All...done,” he said, tightening the lid back on the thermos before handing it to you. He was so thankful right now that the thermos wasn’t any bigger. He remembered how you mentioned your family used to do these things to help you when you were sick, and immediately felt bad for your childhood self. Being sick as a human must be awful.

Hands finally free, Mammon turned over and curled up beside you, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he rested his head in your lap. Finally he was going to get to rest and cuddle all he wanted. He let out a sigh of contentment when he felt your fingers start to carefully comb through his hair. Now this was what he had been waiting for.

You peered around your book at the adorable, malingering demon resting so peacefully on your lap. You were honestly surprised he had managed to drink all of that vile milk concoction. You had thought for sure that would be the thing to make him fess up. You however, were prepared for this scenario and had one final trick up your sleeve.

But first, you were going to let your sweet demon of Greed get a bit of rest and some real cuddles in. You did love him after all, and you did enjoy cuddling with him. If he had just asked you to be spoiled for a day, you would have happily obliged him. Instead, he gave you an opportunity to tease him that was simply too good to pass up.

After a couple of hours had passed, you sat your book down and stretched your arms above your head. You had gotten a little bit stiff maintaining your position for so long, but Mammon had fallen asleep and your book was better than you had been expecting, so you hadn’t wanted to move.

As you stretched, Mammon started to stir and hugged your legs closer to himself. You smiled at him and gave him a small pat on the head, which caused him to reposition himself a little so that he could better see you.

“Hey, how are you feeling now?”, you asked.

“About the same,” he coughed a couple times before continuing, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it down ta lunch. Ya think you could bring my food up to me?” He gave you another weak cough, then tugged the blanket up to his chest so only his head was exposed.

“Really? You don’t think you can even make it downstairs?” you asked, feigning concern.

“Yeah,” cough cough, “It’s just so far to walk ya know? I’d probably get trapped on the stairs.” Mammon laughed weakly at his own joke, a pleading look in his eye.

“That’s starting to sound serious Mammon. I’m getting kind of worried.”

“Nah it’s fine! I’m sure. I just need ta rest. No big deal.”

“I don’t know Mammon. I'm thinking I should go get Lucifer just in case.”

“Hey, that's really not necessary ya know.”

“Well, I do have one more thing I can try,” you said, sighing, “But if you don’t want to try it then I’ll need to get Lucifer.”

Mammon thought for a moment. So far his luck hadn’t been the best with your home remedies. His feet felt awful, and he could still remember the taste of that milk. But maybe if you didn’t have him eat anything he’d be fine? If it could get him out of talking to Lucifer, then a little bit of discomfort would be worth it.

“A’ight, whatcha got?”

“It’s just medicine. Don’t worry. Nothing you have to eat,” you replied, with a saccharine sweet smile. You really wished you had thought a bit further ahead and set up a video camera, because you were sure his reaction was going to be amazing.

Mammon rolled off your lap, resting on his stomach with his arms crossed under his pillow. He watched you as you went back to your stash of things you had brought with you, and picked up a small green box and began opening the end, removing the products carefully.

“Ok Mammon, I need you to lay on your side, facing the wall.”

“Umm...ok.” Mammon rolled over as instructed, thoroughly confused as to why he had to face away from you to receive medication. Maybe it was some sort of topical cream and you were going to rub it on his back?

“Great, now I want you to pull your top leg up towards your stomach, and keep your bottom leg straight.”

“Alright….” He was starting to get a little anxious now. This position seemed really odd to him, and sorta vulnerable. In fact, it vaguely reminded him of a sex position. Which was silly, he thought, it wasn’t like you were going to try to make a move on him when he was supposed to be ill.

“Perfect,” you said, as you started pulling down the blankets and sheets to get a good view of Mammon’s ass. As soon as the cool air hit his backside though, he became very concerned about what was about to happen next.

“Wh wh wh what are you doing back there?” he asked, trying to crane his neck so he could see you, which was very difficult to do from the position he was in.

“I’m prepping the suppository. I just need to apply a bit…”

“THE WHAT?!” he yelped, slapping his hands over his butt as he scrambled to sit upright in bed.

“The suppository,” you replied. It took all of your concentration to keep a straight face at this point.

“I I I I...really don’t think that’s necessary. In fact! I’m feelin’ better already! See?” Mammon flexed his arms, as some sort of show of strength, “Look, even my cough is gone.”

“I don’t know Mammon, I really don’t want to take any chances. If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll just go get Lucifer, it’s ok.”

“NO! Uhhh... really, I’m feeling much better now.”

You could hear the panic rising in his voice, and the sadist within you laughed in glee. Oh this precious, precious man. How boring would your days be without him?

“It’s fine. I’ll just get Lucifer,” you said, standing up and heading towards the door.

You barely made it a single step though before you felt Mammon grab your wrist, as his confession started pouring from his lips…

“imnotsickpleasedontgetlucfierpleaseimfineiswearimfinenobuttstuffnoluciferpleasepleasepleaseplease.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter any longer, and just started... cackling . There really was no other word to describe it. Tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you laughed and laughed, completely doubled over.

Mammon blinked in confusion. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. As he stood there watching you struggling to compose yourself, he became aware of the fact that he was still completely naked, and not only that, he was standing in his onion socks and the feeling was...not pleasant.

He couldn’t decide if it was safe to let go of your wrist yet, since he had no idea why you were laughing as hard as you were. Would you make a break for it if he tried to grab some shorts to cover himself? Or should he just pick you up and crawl back into bed so he didn’t have to stand anymore in these disgusting socks?

As he was weighing his options, you finally seemed to be calming down, and after taking a few deep breaths you turned to face him.

“Ok...I’m good...I’m good now...phew…” you wiped the tears from your eyes and continued, “Mammon, I know.”

“What do ya mean ya…?” realization started to dawn on him, and Mammon’s cheeks flushed crimson, “But all th th that stuff?”, he stammered out.

“Just some old wives tales and folk remedies.”

“Why…! You…! I drank THAT! That disgustin’ rotten milk!”

You tried to stifle your laughter with your free hand, but were not very successful.

“And...the socks! These nasty slimy socks! You…!”

It was getting harder to contain yourself again as Mammon kept pointing out all you had put him through. Watching you struggle not to laugh made him blush even harder, which only left him more annoyed.

“That’s it ya brat,” he said, and without any warning, scooped you up in his arms.

“Ack! What are you doing?!” you yelped, as you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“We’re goin’ to take a bath and ya scrubbin’ my feet ‘til the onion is gone.”

“What?! Why do I have to do that? You’re the one who faked ill!”

“Th th that’s besides the point…!” he stuttered out, while walking towards his bathroom, his socks making a sickening squishy sound with each step.

You wrapped your arms a little tighter around his neck, giving him a hug, as you laughed softly to yourself. He really did keep your life interesting.

#gn!mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me fluff #obey me fanfic #obey me crack #mammon fluff #mammon crack #mammon fanfic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 25: Disorientation

CW: Sick whumpee, emeto references, infection, medical whump, some references to institutionalized pet whump. Needles, track mark mention, IV placement (vague, non-graphic). Brief misgendering (out of delirium/not being able to see correctly, very brief/accidental). Includes hallucination referencing parental death.

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Infection

“Blood pressure is 100 over 60. That’s lowish, but not the worst it could be.” There’s a voice. He doesn’t know the voice. The words are familiar, though. Like a show on TV. “You got a temp?”

“One hundred three point four degrees,” Another voice says. They’re speaking so quickly he is struggling to follow them.

“Shit. That’s up from when his guardian called.”

“We need to get that fever under control. What did she say about history?”

“Threw up this morning and didn’t stop throwing up. Says he admitted he’s been hurting for two days - classic symptoms, pain started at navel and moved right and down. His fever was probably present from when he woke up, but.” There’s a pause. Chris blinks his eyes and sees, blurry and bleary, a sense of someone shrugging.

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

There’s a snort. “Kev. You know why.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to get fucking blacklisted from EMT work if we get caught, you know. What we’re doing is illegal.”

“We’re not gonna get caught. I’ve been part of lib life since I was seventeen, just trust me on this.”

Chris tries to speak, to ask them who they are, where he is, but his lips move without sound. He can feel the vibration of an engine, hear it rumbling, and the world around him is shaking minutely, bumping along on a road. With each bump and pothole, the screaming pain in the boy’s abdomen crests like a wave crashing the shore inside him, and he can feel tears running freely, blurring his vision when he tries to blink, to see.

Above him there is white inset with tiny round lights and his breath hitches. He tries to sit but there are straps holding him down, and his eyes widen, staring up in terror.

No. No, no, no, they said I wouldn’t go back, they said-

He breathes in shallow whistles he can’t seem to control. His stomach is churning, flipping with new nausea, the pain throbbing through his abdomen, behind his eyes, all the way to his toes and fingertips. “Wh, where, where, where-where, where am, am I-”

“Sssshhhh.” Chris flinches and twists as best he can to look up and behind him, the person he vaguely saw shrugging before is there wearing a dark blue uniform with letters that hurt to look at across a pocket on the front. A plastic-gloved hand presses to Chris’s shoulder to help push him back down. “Hey no, you gotta stay steady, there, kiddo. Don’t move, you really, really don’t want to strain your muscles right now. We’re about to check and make sure Yoder’s guess is right.”

Chris keeps blinking, but his eyes are blurring with tears so quickly he can’t get a clear look at the person’s face. He can move one of his hands, at least, and he lifts it to lay it over the person’s glove, feels the slip-slide of plastic and the warmth of them underneath. He shivers, then whimpers when the pain worsens in response. “Nat? Where… where is… Please-... please, sir, h-hurts-”

“Not sir,” The person says, gently, a bit of auburn hair falling over their forehead. Their voice is low, soft and soothing. “Can you see?”

Chris rolls his eyes back towards the ceiling. The light coming from the little circles in the roof of the vehicle is slightly yellowed. It isn’t cold. It has weight but isn’t cold. There is padded blue plastic lining the walls, something like a bench on one side and a jump seat, like flight attendants sit in on airplanes…

She holds his hands, so so tightly, as they bump around. He clings to her, breathing fast. She tries to smile at him and her eyes are wet. “Just remember, Tris, even when the flight is kind of bumpy, you don’t have to worry about a thing. The pilots do this all the time.” Her face is pale, though, and he sees her looking ahead, where a woman in a skirt is buckling herself into a special seat.

“Mom? What’s, what’s, what-what-what is, is that, why does does she have a different-”

“It’s called a jump seat, baby,” The woman says, and the plane bumps up and back down, and his mother’s breath comes shaky and uneven.

“I love you, Tris,” His mother says suddenly, and her voice catches. “Baby, I love you so much-... l-love you-... it’s okay, baby, it’s okay-” Her voice is getting weird and thick like she’s speaking through water.

His breath catches at red spreading over the front of her shirt, and the plane stops tumbling through the air because she’s sitting with her back against a wall under a photo of the three of them last Christmas and her blood is on the wall behind her in a spray and Tristan starts to scream and he paints with blood on a cold white wall and the plane is hurtling through the air and his mother is gone and his father is gone and his life is gone-

The headache hits him and the thought he was having dissipates under the pain, one more piece of him throbbing. “K-Kind... kind of… can see... hurts-... Mom, I’m, I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t stay, stay hidden, I’m sorry-”

“Sssshhhh. You’re okay, you’re okay.” The person squeezes his shoulder, just a little.

“What the fuck was that about?”

“Rescues do this. Don’t ask.”

“That’s fucking eerie, man-”

“I said don’t ask. We don’t ask them, they don’t tell us. It only makes it worse if they try to keep thinking about it, so just… forget he said anything. He probably already has.”

The headache slips back, and the pain in his stomach is stronger again. Chris hears a low voice from somewhere slightly further, relaying information, speaking in a monotone that is just soft enough that Chris can’t understand it.

The person with the nice voice and pretty auburn hair is talking to him again. “Here we go. Tori’s going to help me get you some paperwork going and we’ve kind of got a system to get you in without the docs picking up on anything. Don’t worry, kiddo. You’re not the first we’ve pulled through this.”

“Th’ first…” He can’t keep his thoughts straight. Can’t understand what any of it means.

“Well, one good way to check,” The second voice says, and Chris turns to stare upwards at a man who gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kiddo.” He presses both hands down on Chris’s abdomen, on the right side of his navel. Briefly, the sharp pain fades, and Chris’s breaths slow, just for a second. “All right, let’s check his response.” The man pulls his hands back.

Chris, strapped down to the table, arches his back in a nearly perfect arc as best he can, screaming hoarsely as the pain rushes back in, even worse than before. He is buried in it - he drowns in the waves of agony, like and unlike the pain of the shock collar, like and unlike the worst pain he’s ever felt.

His scream ends, and the two people in uniforms look at each other. “Well, that’s a fucking sign, isn’t it?”

“Check the heel. Okay, kiddo, we need to test one more thing to know for sure, okay?” The hand squeezes, one more time, at his shoulder, and then pulls back. “I’m going to prep fentanyl-”

“I don’t know, that pressure’s low for fentanyl.”

“... no, you’re right, it is, but... it’s our best option for controlling pain until we get there. It’s riding a line, but I think 100 over 60 can handle it.”

“You sure?”

“Confirm first, we’ll decide after that.”

“Got it.” Chris has only just settled back into the swaying nausea of hurt when there’s a flat, blunt impact against his bare heel - and he sobs, whimpering at the way pain rockets through him from his abdomen, spiraling like blades beneath his skin down his leg and up his side, gripping his heart. He jerks away but he’s strapped down too tightly to move. He wants to curl up but they just keep hurting him. They’re handlers, and this is fun, and once again Chris is the trainee and they’ve tied him down so he can’t stop them.

He starts to cry, hot tears running down his face, and the man who hit his heel says something to the other person but he can’t hear them over the rushing of his own blood in his ears, the pain inside him has taken him completely. He isn’t being good enough, that must be why they’re hurting him. He wasn’t good, and he is being punished, and the handlers have something they want he’s not giving, but he doesn’t know what, and he can’t… he can’t see…

“Please,” He whispers, groping blindly as much as he can. “Please, please, please, stop, please, I’ll, I’ll, I-I’ll do anything, please make it stop, I’ll b-be good-”

There’s a pause.

“Christ. Give him the fentanyl, Kev.”

The man’s voice is shaken. “... yeah, let’s do it. Uh, yeah, yeah. Right.”

“You handle the IV,” The first person says, the one who seems to know Nat. “Can you get him set up?”

“Dunham, I-”

“Just breathe, Kev. Let’s get his IV in.”

The Drip. No, not the Drip, no no no no-

Chris tries to beg - they have always loved his begging, and these new handlers will, too, he’s sure of it, he will beg them to let him keep Jake, he can be so so so good for them if they’ll only let him have Jake, if they won’t take his memory of Jake away. He can be so good...

He can’t make his mouth work any longer - it hurts too much, he can’t seem to force his brain and mouth to connect. He can’t do anything but cry, heaving wailing childlike sobs, and he is going to lose more people, all over again, he will never stop losing the people who love him-

Please, don’t take them away from me, please-

Mom, I’m sorry-

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You going to-”

“Hold his hand or something. He’s scared. They’re always scared.” The kind face, hazel eyes and auburn hair, slides back into his vision. Their voice softens and they brush a little hair away from his forehead. “Hey, you. We’re going to get you something to settle that pain, okay? Just hang on for me.” They turn away, briefly, voice raising above the rumbling engine, the low vibration, the rocking and swaying that neither of the two back here with him seem to notice like he does. “Amy, what’s our ETA?”

“Seven minutes,” A woman shouts back from the front. “Seven minutes and I’ve already confirmed Tori has a chart prepped to go. Before we stop I’ll make sure she’s ready to get us inside. She’s called in Mandela to do the surgery and you know the nurses wouldn’t tell WRU a fucking thing. Get that wrist bandaged over and we got this. Tori’s got our asses covered.”

“Gotta love that woman,” The person murmurs, turning back to Chris, smiling kindly down at him. “Look, we got you all set. Yoder-... uh, Natalie’s going to be there when you wake up, okay?”

What good does that do if they give him the Drip and he doesn’t know her anymore?

“Pl-please,” Chris whispers, managing to get his hand over the person’s, holding onto their wrist with the tightest grip of his thin fingers he can manage. Their skin feels blistering hot and he shakes, the world spinning around him. “Please, please, n-no, no, no no no, no needles, please-”

“I’m so sorry,” The person answers, soft-voiced and sincere. Handlers never say they’re sorry, Chris thinks. Handlers don’t apologize for hurting you. Handlers tell you you deserved it, or you wanted it, or you need it because you’re just a slut you fucking love this, but they never apologize. His hand is gently uncurled. He stares up into the person’s face, lost in the look of real compassion there. He has never seen someone who wears a uniform look at him like that. Like thy care. “This is just for the pain.”

“Jesus Christ,” The man says from the other side of him, and Chris turns, trying to see him more clearly. “I cut off the sleeve, Finn, it was too tight to roll up-” Chris hadn’t even noticed. “-and he’s-”

“Yeah, he’s a rescue, we talked about this, Kev, they’ll have a barcode-”

“No, he’s got track marks.”

They both go quiet, and Chris doesn’t know what the words mean together, although he knows them both separately. The silence draws out, and then the first person says, “They drug them. Heavily. You should always expect track marks on your rescue patients.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-... this is the first one for me.”

“No problem. Just keep that in mind. Does he have a usable vein or no?”

“Yeah, these are old. I can get him set. Just… shook me up a little, is all.” There’s a swipe of something cold along the inside of his elbow, sickeningly familiar. Chris is good - he goes very still, waiting for the needle to slide into his skin.

He is a good statue boy.

“I, I’ve lost-... please, please, please don’t make me lose, make me lose them,” He whispers. “Please don’t, don’t take him away from me, please don’t take Jake-”

There’s a sharp pinch, more indistinct voices as they speak to each other, and then his eyes roll up and his body shudders hard, rattling the table.

He feels himself thunk back onto the softly-molded padded plastic, a burst of ache as he bites his tongue. The world goes white around all its edges, he slips and slides inside his mind, breath slowing or going faster and he’s no longer in his body enough to know the difference.

Both of the people in the back of the strange van start cursing low under their breath.

“Shit, shit shit shit, check that blood pressure again-”

“Could be a syncope, Yoder said he’s terrified of needles, could just be a trauma response-”

“It could be, sure, or he could be crashing. Fuck!”

“Don’t be crashing don’t be crashing don’t be crashing, come on kiddo, stay with me, don’t be crashing-”

Kiddo

“Could be the fentanyl, maybe his bp was too low to pull that off, oh shit what if we fucked this up, Finn-”

Little man

“We didn’t fuck this up. Okay? It’ll be okay, he’ll be fine. I’m checking his pressure again. Amy, what’s the hold up, we need to move!”

“Almost there, Dunham, I swear! Just hold him together until we get there.”

“Doing my fucking best, Amy!”

It’s okay, Tris

You’re okay, sweetie

It’s all right, baby, you’re okay, Mommy’s got you.

Chris takes in a breath, and blinks his eyes open one more time as something cool seems to pass through him, the throbbing agony fading, just a little. The world slows around him in its dizzying spin. He looks blearily up at the person, the handler or not-handler, who apologized. “Please… please…”

“I know,” They say, softly. There’s pressure, of some kind, but Chris is drifting now, his eyes moving without focus over the little circles of light. The two people move around him in some kind of strange dance that both of them know but Chris doesn’t, and that’s okay - he wouldn’t be able to dance like this, anyway. He’s dizzy but not sick with it, and that’s kind of funny, but he can’t remember how to laugh or why he thought that was funny at all.

Compression somewhere on his arm. It doesn’t matter.

“70 over 40. God damn it.”

“Okay, let’s get that B.P. stable and check once more time before we get him inside to see if it’s up. Temp check?”

A pause, a sensation Chris can barely understand, and then more swearing. “His fever’s not fucking going down. Jesus fucking Christ-”

“Okay. Keep it calm, Kev.” The voice is even and steady, and Chris feels the barest brush of fingers over his shoulder. “We have got to stabilize this kid. Mandela can’t operate if he doesn’t stabilize. Come on, kiddo, don’t crash on us, come on come on come on-... Amy, confirm with Tori that we’re covered, please?”

“Tori is ready and waiting for us, Finn,” Amy says, a disembodied woman’s voice that swirls in a fog around Chris’s thoughts. “They’re prepping surgery, we can get him straight in. Mandela was close by and she’s already in the O.R. They’ll get him off your hands as soon as we stop, Tori’s got a new team called out to give us a break so you can tell his guardian the plan. Guardians will be in the E.R. waiting room, there’s two of them. They’re wearing-”

“Amy. We saw them when we picked him up, remember? Plus I’ve known Yoder for years.”

“... Right. Sorry.”

“You’re good. Tori really thought of everything, huh?”

“Christ, I love that woman,” The man - Kev - mutters. “Just… love her.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Tori’s on top of it. She’s been doing this longer than I have, she’s actually who got me into it at my last job. I was into the movement young but just, you know, flyers and stuff, little bit of sneaky shit. When I met her was after I got kicked out of the Army-”

“You got kicked out of the Army?”

“It’s a long story. Technically I’m not allowed over the Canadian border anymore, either. Anyway, when Tori got a new job, I just… kind of followed her here.”

“What, you weren’t born elbow-deep in La Resistance?”

“Ha, ha. Oh, here we go. Okay, kiddo, time to fix you up good as new.” The vehicle slows, and slows, and then there’s a hard turn, and Chris’s eyes close.

When the pain fades a little more, he finds he is too tired to open them again. He slips away into a warm and drifting darkness where the pain can’t reach him anymore.

I love you, baby boy.

Hold on.

I’ve got you.

You’re going to be just fine.

He hears something, high-pitched beeping noise that seems to be fading as the world around him fades. It’s all dark now, and warm, and he’s going to be okay.

She brushes fingers over his face, and he can barely hear the voices of the people inside the ambulance with him as he sinks into the darkness.

“Shit shit shit, not again-”

“65 over 35-”

“Fuck, I’m gonna have new gray hair after this-... come on come on come on-”

“Finn!”

“What, Amy?”

“We’re here.”

---

Finn Dunham and Tori (mentioned) belong to @whump-tr0pes and are used with permission. Thanks to Athena as well for her help making this sound remotely realistic!

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

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svgarpills · 3 years

Note

For the drabbles, would you do an ishimondo one where mondo has a high fever and taka has to take care of him while he sweats it out? Mondo may even talk in his sleep while he hallucinates stuff idk fever dreams can be weird but knowing mondo and his past he’d probs say some weird stuff and taka would just be there the whole time trying to get his temp down

Ooh ok lets give this a shot

Ship: Ishimondo

Characters: Kiyotaka Ishimaru, Mondo Owada, Makoto Naegi (briefly)

Warnings: n/a

*I wanted to somehow add Chihiro into this, like make it after their death but idk i couldn't make it work with the context of chapter. 2 and its timeframe

Kiyotaka was in a living hell.

Forced to watch his classmates kill each other and then be sent to a trial where he had to watch another classmate die in front of him. Monokuma's shrill laugh still echoed in his ears when he sat in his dorm each night, head buried in his hands. The only reason he was still going was because of the unlikely friendship he managed to form with Mondo.

Speaking of the biker, he...wasn't in the dining hall. Kiyotaka had a system in place, and ignoring the sickening feeling he got when he saw the empty seats of Leon and Sayaka, he noticed one more that should be filled. That was...odd. Mondo might've been foul-mouthed and quick tempered most of the time, even as Taka's friend, but he always showed up to Kiyotaka's meetings.

"Has anyone seen Mondo?" He asked. The students all looked at each other before shrugging or shaking their heads. Fighting the looming sense of dread building in his stomach he cleared his throat. "I'll go get him, then! There's no excuse to be late!" Determinedly, he stood and exited the dining hall, where he allowed himself to take a shaky breath and rush down the hall.

Mondo couldn't be dead, could he? Surely there was no reason someone would risk becoming a blackened so soon after the first trial. Mondo could defend himself, but he couldn't stop himself from worrying as he swallowed thickly. He reached Mondo's door quicker than he thought possible and raised his hand to knock. He didn't mean to be loud, but his shaking arms didn't allow him much control over the gesture.

The rooms were soundproofed, so he couldn't determine if Mondo had heard him or not. The lock turned and opened slightly, violet eyes meeting vibrant red. "Ah, you're awake!" Mondo stared at him and Kiyotaka noticed the beads of sweat formed on his skin. "Are you feeling alright? You look..." he trailed off, not sure if it would be rude to point it out.

"'M fine," Mondo muttered, voice rough and a bit scratchier than usual. "Had a 'lil fever for the past day or two, 's nothin' serious." Kiyotaka reached out hesitantly to place his palm on Mondo's forehead and recoiled at the heat. "I'm fine, bro. Now c'mon, that dumb bear might do somethin' any second now."

"It is something serious! You need to be resting, Mondo, not investigating." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Go lie down, i'll ask Naegi to grab a water bottle or something." He knew a bit about fevers- not much, but whenever he was too sick to overwork himself he tended to just lie in bed and drink water. So that would...probably work. Why was nobody here an Ultimate doctor?

"Fine. You're not gonna stop talkin' about it so I might as well." Kiyotaka couldn't sense any real hostility in Mondo's voice, so he nodded in agreement. "...What're ya standing there for? Go tell Makoto and then come back, if you're gonna be so worried y' might as well stick around." He blinked before clearing his throat and muttering an agreement. Thankfully he knew where Makoto most likely was, probably waiting for him.

Once he had explained the situation and gotten a couple bottles of water, he returned to Mondo's room. He hesitantly turned the doorknob and found it unlocked. He'd have to tell the biker how dangerous that was later, when he was actually able to comprehend the lecture. It'd be annoying to have to repeat everything when he wasn't feverish.

"Bro?" The room was a bit dim, but still bright enough for him to see. Nothing answered him, so he stepped further into the room. He set the water bottles down on a table and wiped the condensation off on his sleeves. It was just a bit of water, it'd be fine. "Mondo?" He noticed the bed, or more specifically the teen passed out on top of the blankets in a postion that seemed more uncomfortable than anything.

Ah, that's good. He needs the rest. Taka pulled one of the spare chairs to the bedside and sat, resting his hands in his lap. This was just to make sure Mondo didn't get any worse, he told himself. It was perfectly reasonable logic, there was no way to send him to a real doctor, so Kiyotaka would just have to monitor him until the fever left.

Mondo shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowed slightly as his face turned from peaceful to more troubled, lips pulled down into a barely visible frown. Maybe he was having one of those dreams Kiyotaka had heard about, the ones that made no sense and often accompanied a fever like this. He didn't want to wake the biker up unless it seemed truely necessary, so he just watched as he shifted again.

"Daiya..." That caught Taka's attention. That name was unfamiliar, he didn't know anyone named Daiya. "...'m sorry, wasn't...wasn't strong 'nough." That just added to his confusion. Mondo was plenty strong, so what could've caused him to say something like that. The biker muttered something else, but it was soft and incomprehensible, delusioned mutters and slurred words as the fever slowly worked its way out of his system.

Taka was still sitting in the chair when Mondo's eyes opened again, bleary and slightly confused. "Oh, you're awake!" Mondo groaned and sat up, nodding slowly. He still seemed a bit out of it, either from the dream or the fever, but he didn't look as bad as before. Taka took that as a success.

"...Taka, bro, did'ya sit there the whole time?" He raised an eyebrow, slight amusement on his features as Taka blushed and stumbled out an explanation about watching over him while he was sick. The moral compass passed him one of the water bottles, cap slightly askew, and told him to drink.

"You need to keep hydrated to fully recover! I expect to see you at the next meeting if you feel better tomorrow, bro!" Mondo rolled his eyes fondly and took a sip from the bottle as Taka pressed a hand to his forehead. "You don't feel as warm, which is good. Keep resting the rest of the day and you'll probably be fine tomorrow."

"Whatever you say, bro." Kiyotaka nodded and left the room. Mondo would be okay, he was sure of it. The fever was going down and he seemed lucid enough to take care of himself and follow Kiyotaka's instructions. As he walked down the hall, he couldn't help but spare one more glance at Mondo's door before reassuring himself everything would be fine.

Kiyotaka couldn't help but feel nervous as he waited in the dining hall, trying to resist the urge to pace back and forth on the smooth floor, but when Mondo entered and called him 'bro' just as confidently as always, he felt some of that anxiety slowly melt away as he replied with just as much energy.

Maybe not everything in this killing game had to be awful.

#ishimondo #trigger happy havoc #kiyotaka ishimaru #mondo owada #its like almost 2 am idk if this is good #but uhh hope u like it anon #my writing #maybe i should give these a special name #svgarprompts #pog

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polaroid15 · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump day 11 - Hallucinations

Summary: “Pete,” Tony says again, resting a light hand on the kid’s shoulder, “wake up sleeping beauty. Time to eat.”

Again, Peter doesn’t move. Feeling a small twinge in his stomach, he strengthens his grip, giving the boy’s shoulder a small shake. The movement jostles Peter’s head off his arms where it rests against the table. Now, Tony can see his face.

And his stomach drops all the way down to his toes.

Or, Peter gets a bad fever, and Tony doesn’t realize until it’s almost too late.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/72129546

----

“Hey Pete, are you feeling Mexican or Chinese for dinner?”

There’s a long drawn silence and Tony swivels on his stool to investigate, abandoning his project on the table. It doesn’t take long to find the boy- he’s leaning against his workspace, head resting on folded arms. The kid’s own project sits untouched in front of him, still a mess of unconnected wires.

“Oh lordy,” Tony sighs, “are you seriously taking a nap right now?”

When Peter still doesn’t stir, Tony begrudgingly slips off his seat and onto the cool tile, his legs aching after hours of disuse. He crosses the space between them quickly, a smile tugging at his lips.

Kids.

“Pete,” he says again, resting a light hand on the kid’s shoulder, “wake up sleeping beauty. Time to eat.”

Again, Peter doesn’t move. Feeling a small twinge in his stomach, he strengthens his grip, giving his shoulder a small shake. The movement jostles Peter’s head off his arms where it rests against the table. Now, Tony can see his face.

And his stomach drops all the way down to his toes.

“Damn it!”

Trying to keep his breathing even, Tony places his palm against Peter’s red, clammy forehead and curses at the heat emanating from it. His lips are dry and chapped, his curls sticking in wet clumps on his forehead.

“Peter! Wake up right the hell now!”

Slowly, Peter does. His eyes open into slits, revealing delirious orbs of brown on the other side. They drift up to Tony in some delay as he sways on his chair.

“B-Ben?”

Tony stills, convinced his heart has ceased beating. He swallows past a sudden lump in his throat, hand falling away from Peter’s shoulder. “No- no, kiddo. It’s Tony.”

Peter whimpers, a vicious shiver upsetting his equilibrium. He falls, and Tony is just able to catch him before he hits the floor.

“FRI!” Tony yells, his heart in his throat. He repositions Peter so his head is in his lap, the heat radiating from it impossibly high. “FRI, call a medteam now!”

“Right away, boss.”

“Oh God,” Tony murmurs, hands shaking as he feels for Peter’s pulse. “How- how did this happen? Oh Christ.”

“Mmm. Ben-”

Tony bites back a sob, the world dissolving down to a pinprick.

“Miss y-you.”

The kid’s eyes roll around in his head, his breathing short and stilted. Tony grabs onto his hand and holds it tight, vowing to never let go. “I miss you too,” he whispers, choosing to indulge whatever the kid is seeing.

“Ben.”

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

The doors to the lab slide open, a med team rushing through with a stretcher. Still hanging onto his hand, Tony maneuvers with the team until Peter is lifted onto the stretcher, his head lolling towards Tony like a flower to the sun. One of the staff raises a thermometer to Peter’s ear as Tony wipes away a tear off Peter’s cheek.

“Damn,” the medic says, voice tight. “Temp is 104.9. We need to get him cooled off now!”

They start to run towards the elevator, and Peter cries out at the movement, his hand tightening in Tony’s.

“You’re okay,” Tony soothes. “You’re gonna be fine.”

The elevator dings and they step inside. Peter gives a full body flinch at the harsh fluorescent lights and digs his sweaty face into Tony’s arm. He moans, eyelids fluttering.

“Where- where am I?” he slurs.

“We’re at the tower.”

“Wha- what? Tower?”

Tony adds his second hand to their already clasped ones, rubbing his thumb over the back of Peter’s knuckles. “Don’t worry about it. You’re okay. We’re going to take care of you.”

Peter shudders. He turns his head to look up at Tony with drooped, delirious eyes. Something passes through them, like he’s seeing a ghost. And maybe, Tony thinks, he is.

“Dad?” he whispers. Peter is crying freely now, and Tony sacrifices one of his hands from Peter’s to wipe them off his face. The heat from the kid’s cheeks burn his fingertips. “Dad. You’re- you-”

Alive? Here? Back? Peter’s sentence trails off, his coherence getting lost in the thick mist behind his eye. Tears of his own well up in Tony’s eyes and Peter’s small, shaking body blurs in front of him.

“Dad,” Peter wheezes, more tears dripping from his eyes. He’s growing weaker in Tony’s grip, the medteam becoming more frantic.

“I’m here Pete”, Tony whispers, his emotions bleeding into his voice.

A small, frail smile passes onto Peter’s lips. Then, as if realizing, it falls. “Am- am I dying?”

“No,” Tony says immediately. “You’re not dying. You’re going to be okay.”

“You’re- you’re dead.”

“I’m right here bud.”

“I’m scared.”

“You’re going to be alright. I’m right here with you, okay? I’m not leaving. You’re going to be okay.”

“Okay,” Peter repeats, as if testing the word on his tongue. The last string keeping him tethered to reality must break then, because his eyes close, head lolling to the side.

The elevator dings and they rush out of it, Peter growing limp against the stretcher. As they draw closer to the medbay, one of the staff grabs Tony’s arm, separating him from Peter.

“Hey!” he yells. “Hey, stop!”

“We need the space to work. He’s in good hands.”

I’m not leaving. He had told Peter that only moments before.

“I can’t- I have to go with him!”

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark.”

And just like that, Tony is left in the hall alone.

---

Peter is lucid two days later.

Or, well, mostly lucid.

He’s laying in bed, hooked up to an IV and playing a messy game of Go Fish with Tony. After reluctantly giving Tony a seven out of his hand, his eyes go wide and he drops his cards. “Wait!”

Tony looks up sharply, still on edge. The kid had nearly died, the doctors saying that if they had caught it even just an hour later, recovery wouldn’t have been an option. And Tony had been right beside him the whole time. Working away on a stupid mechanism while the kid’s brain boiled. “What?”

Peter looks frantic, his eyes wide above his fever-flushed face. “I called you dad, didn’t I?”

Tony huffs out a small laugh, rolling his eyes. He relaxes. “Are you kidding me? Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not,” Peter assures. “It’s definitely not. I just- I just-”

“It’s okay,” Tony says, saving him the obligation for an explanation. “I’m surprised you remember, anyway. Your brain was quite literally melting.”

“Melting,” Peter echoes.

“Big time.”

Peter falls back against his pillows and retrieves his cards from the sheets with shaky hands. “Sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

“You know, calling you dad.”

“Kiddo,” Tony says, smiling. “I don’t mind at all.”

They both freeze, and Peter blushes until his ears are flaming, not helped by the remnants of the fever. “Oh,” he says, trying to hide his smile, “okay. Noted.”

“Noted.”

“Do you have any threes?”

“You wish, kiddo.”

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whumpiary · 3 years

Text

hell angst mirror piece to this (cassius’ morning after his first time with christopher). this piece is a proper expansion on this ask, as requested by @rosesareviolentlyread, and spurred on by the tears of @untilthepainstarts and @wildfaewhump

content warning: implied noncon (but not actually), drugging (but not actually), emeto, paranoia, confusion, miscommunication in the worst possible way

He’s woken up.

He’s woken up alone.

In a bed that isn’t his with no idea how he got there.

He has last night in his head. And here’s this morning.

And his first thought is Oh. Again.

It should be familiar by now. It should feel so, so familiar by now.

This room is usually so comforting. The sheets smell like Josiah. Like protection and bad moods and steady hands and safety. Except now he’s lying here alone, head full of sand and fog, and he doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with the fact that none of those things are true anymore.

They were true last night. They can’t be true this morning.

Because he doesn’t know what happened in between.

And worse than that, he does know. He knows exactly what happened. Doesn’t he?

He sits up and it’s like the world shifts and melts around him, settling in against the carpet as he curls his fingers around the edge of the mattress. The fog, heavy and familiar and horrible, sits around him like a numb layer between him and the world around him. He wishes it felt like armour. It feels more like a pillow smothering him.

A knock at the door. He looks up at it. Doesn’t answer. It opens anyway.

Josiah’s standing there with a mug in his hand, brow wrinkled in that ever-present almost frown. It looks a little like worry this morning. Maybe that’s the fog too. The fog and wishful thinking. “Hey.”

Cass swallows the sand in his mouth.“Hey.”

“Didn’t expect you to be awake.”

Yeah. I bet.

Cass shrugs. Swallows again. “Sorry.”

“Oh. No. I didn’t mean...” Josiah frowns and shakes his head a little as though to clear it. Cass blinks slowly. Tries to keep his eyes on Josiah. Tries not to lose him to the mist. Miss the moment he’ll move closer. “How’re you feeling?”

Cass raises a shoulder. Drops it. He’s tired. He’s tired and he’s fucking sad. He’s so, so sad. He knows this feeling. He knows this fog. He can’t see the edge of it.

It’s been so long since he’s woken up like this without knowing, at least, he did it to himself.

The last thing he remembers from last night is… The last thing he remembers is…

“Cass?”

He looks up. “What?”

Josiah lifts the mug in his hand up a little.“I said I brought you tea.”

Cass blinks. “Why?”

Josiah blinks back, looking as lost as Cass feels. “To… drink?”

Cass stares at him. Is he meant to respond to that?

“Lou’s friend says I need to keep your fluids up. And I thought tea might be… soothing. Or something.”

Cass kinda wants to laugh. He wasn’t really aware there was a handbook for post-roofie aftercare.

“Oh.”

His eyes follow Josiah’s hands as they move to set the mug down on the bedside table. There’s steam curling up from the rim. Tag of two teabag still hanging over the edge ‘cause Josiah knows he likes it left in. Is he meant to be grateful for that?

“-lu or something.”

“What?”

“I said you have the flu or something.”

Cass looks at him. Blinks. Don’t lie to me. But he’s so tired.

“Right,” he says. He nods slow. Wraps his arms around his middle. “M’sick, right?”

“Right.”

He wants to gag on the lie but he swallows it instead.

He swears he blinks and suddenly Josiah’s hand is against his forehead. He flinches back, turns his head away. “What’re you doing?”

Josiah moves back a little. Almost like he’s startled. “Just checking your temp. Like I said.”

“Oh.”

“That alright?”

Cass shakes his head before he can think better not to. “I don’t… I, um. I don’t-”

He puts his hands under his thighs, rocking forward. The fog is thick and churning. He can’t think straight. He can’t focus.

“I don’t want you touching me.”

It’ll work or it won’t. But at least he’s said it.

Not now. Not anymore.

It’s a dangerous thing to say. It’s the worst thing he could say, probably. But it’s the only thing he’s sure of in a fog he can’t see through. He takes in a shaking breath.

“I don’t… I don’t want-”

“Okay,” Josiah says. So simple it seems like a trap. So soft that Cass wants to crash forward into his arms. Even now. Even after. Especially after. “Okay, I won’t.”

Josiah keeps talking. Something about a thermometer.

The charade of it all is confusing. Kinda cloying.

The fog, today, is more like static. More like white noise.

Cass curls his toes against the carpet. His shoes are resting just by the door, socks too. Which means at some point Josiah took them off for him. It’d be nearly sweet if it wasn’t for, like… everything else about this.

Josiah’s standing between him and the exit. Cass wonders if that’s intentional.

He doesn’t understand.

Usually when he wakes up like this, he kind of gets it. Some lost puzzle piece slots into place.

Some feeling of Oh. Right. Of course.

Some realisation of a sign he missed. Some huge flags suddenly turning bright red.

But today he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why Josiah… Why, of all people, Josiah would-

“Cass? You still with me?”

“Why would you do that?” Cass says. The question slips out of him. Escapes on the exhale but once its out, it’s all he wants to know.

“What?”

His skin hurts. His head hurts. The fog is forever. Infinite. Inevitable. He needs this done with. He needs this over.

“Why would you…” he takes a breath in and it feels like the world is falling away from him. Down and down and down. “Why would you do that to me?”

Josiah just looks at him, stupidly. “Do what?”

Cass screws his eyes shut. Hangs his head forward. “Please don’t make me fucking say it.”

The silence that falls between them is mountainous. Loud. It seems to echo off the walls, off the ceiling, off the floor. It seems to go on and on and on.

Josiah clears his throat and Cass tries not to flinch. “Cass, I’m not sure-”

“What, um, what were they?”

Josiah frowns, shakes his head in confusion. Like he’s the one in fogs, “What were what?”

“The… the, um. What you gave me. The, the pills. Last night. They were, what were the, um-”

“Panadol,” Josiah says, frown deepening. “For the fever.”

“For the fever.”

“Yeah.”

Cass looks up at him, frowning. “I don’t… I don’t get it.”

“You’re sick Cass.”

Cass shakes his head and screws his eyes shut tight. He shakes his head and he shakes his head and he shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

The fog is inside of him now. He could swear it. Inside him and eating him whole. Like he’s drowning from the inside out. He whines, holding his head. God, he feels sick.

“Cass-“

“I would’ve done it,” he says. He feels like waves are crashing against his skull. He feels like his head is full of sand. He feels seasick. “Whatever you wanted. Whatever you were… I would’ve done it.”

“Done what?”

“You didn’t have to- I don’t understand. I would’ve just- you could’ve just-“

He lurches forward. Josiah must’ve noticed something before he does because the other man is already there, holding a bucket – an old ice cream tub – in front of him, just in time. He gags again, dry retching, as Josiah’s hand lands on his shoulder as though to steady him.

“Jᴏsɪᴀʜ, ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴍᴇ,” he gets out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Josiah’s hands retreat, leaving him with the bucket. “I said- I told you I don’t want you touching me.”

“Sorry.”

Cass almost wishes that it hadn’t worked. He almost wishes Josiah would just slap him. Hold him down. Hurt him. It’s so much easier than the tricks. Than the fog. Than the lies.

He doesn’t understand. He throws up again.

This time Josiah doesn’t reach for his shoulder. He can see the other man out of his periphery. Standing there, uselessly. It’s another minute or so before the spasms in his gut stop. A sob wracks him instead.

“Why?” he asks, hands wrapped around the container. Another sob. “Why?”

Why would you do that? Why would you do that? Why would you do that to me?

Josiah doesn’t seem to understand what he’s asking. “You’re… you’re just sick, Cass. The flu we think.”

We.

Jesus, what did that mean? What the hell did that mean?

He can’t remember, he can’t remember, he can’t remember.

“If I’m sick then why did you… Why would you…”

He can’t say it. Can never say it. Putting words to it feels like making it real all over again.

How are you meant to make real a horror you can’t even remember?

“I would’ve done it,” he says. “I would’ve just done it. You could’ve just asked. Just… just started touching me even and I would’ve… I wanted you anyway, I would’ve…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying to me,” Josiah says. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Cass coughs a laugh. He’s so dizzy. “What the f-fuck is there to understand?”

“I’m just trying to look after you.”

“Why?”

Why bother? Why try? Why pretend? Why me?

“Because, Cass. You’re s-”

“Because m’sick,” he says. “Right.”

He sits there with his head hanging. He’s so tired. He’s so sad. It’s just fog and exhaustion and sadness and the same empty thought on a loop.

Why would he do that to me?

But he knows why, doesn’t he? Knows it perfectly well.

It’s been so long since this has happened and now here’s here again and he… He can’t do this. He’s so tired. He doesn’t want to fight. He doesn’t want to reason. He doesn’t want to understand anymore. He’s too tired.

Whatever happened, he doesn’t want to know.

“I’m sick,” he says, eyes screwed shut. “I’m sick. Flu or something.”

He offers out the bucket. Josiah takes it. “Yeah. Lou’s friend said-”

“Yeah. Fluids.”

“Yeah. Can you do that?”

Cass looks at the tea, the steam coming off it, the tag of the tea bag hanging over the side. He nods. What else is he gonna do?

The fog is thick. It weighs him down. It feels heavy enough to smother him. Cass lays his head down on the pillow, feet still brushing the floor.

“Gonna… try and sleep it off,” he mumbles, eyes slipping shut. Tries not to think about the echoes in his head.

“Okay.”

The sounds of Josiah’s footsteps on the carpet are so relieving. So, so relieving. He’d thought for a second he might try and sit on the bed.

“I’ll come in and check on you later.”

Cass nods against the pillow, pulls bare feet up onto the bed sheets.

Ignores the echoes. Ignores the echoes. Ignores the echoes.

“Just… yeah. Try and sleep it off.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

What else is he gonna say?

It’ll happen anyway.

#implied or referenced noncon #except not #drugging cw #except still not #emeto cw #paranoia cw #cassius #josiah

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t-lostinworlds · 4 years

Text

Babied (Tom Holland)

A/N: This will be the last of the requests for now since I have my own works i need to get too aha, so the anons who sent a few, I hope you don’t mind waiting a little longer <3 anyway, here’s another fluffy piece that’s made me want to cuddle with Tom even more. Short but extra sweet. Hope you guys enjoy!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Requested:

@ anon, first off, thank you so much you sweetheart! second, thank you for waiting love, hope you like this one <3

Warnings: Just pure wholesome fluff & maybe typos

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

"Where is he?" You asked the moment you stepped inside the boys' house, worry etched on your features due to the faintly morbid text Harrison has sent you.

Said lad who was sat casually on the couch with a guitar in hand, head turning once he noticed your presence to greet you with a sympathetic smile. "He hasn't left his bed unless it's for the bathroom or food."

You sighed, muttering a quick 'thank you' to Harrison before you went into the kitchen to set down your bag of goods. Once done, you filled a tall glass of water full, holding it in one hand with the meds on the other. You went straight towards Tom's room right after, silently prying the door open as you made your way inside.

You felt your heart ache at the sight of your boyfriend, all curled up into a ball under the covers. You can just hear his heavy breaths, a soft groan following suit once he shifted from lying to his side to flat on his back. You made your way towards him, handsome face now in full view, brows furrowed as he squeezed his eyes shut, unaware that he had company until you set the glass of water and medicines gently on the nightstand.

Peeking an eye open, Tom stared at you in pure surprise, blinking rapidly to see if you were actually real. "Y/N? What're you doing here?" He grumbled, voice deep and hoarse as he sniffled.

You frowned at him—at his state to be specific—in utter concern, the bed dipping as you sat on the space beside him. "Haz said you've been groaning and moaning like you're dying so I came as soon as I can."

Tom shook his head with a scoff, gradually pushing himself to sit up—a slight task given that all his muscles were sore and aching—until he was close to eye-level with you, arms resting behind him to support his weight. "That's a bit of an exaggeration."

"I don't think so. You look like shit."

Tom's face was all puffy, hair going on different directions, unruly on top of his head. His eyes looked too tired with the bags under them to match, lips all chapped, nose red due to him always rubbing it with a tissue, irritating the skin, and his whole complexion is just downright pale, drained from any color making him look sickly, still handsome of course, but sickly.

He tilted his head at you with a pout. "Well, thanks darling, I love you too."

You felt your lips quirk up at that, hand going to cup his face, the heat of his skin searing on your palm. Your frown was quick to make a comeback at the feeling.

"Have you checked your temp?"

Tom nodded with a hum and a soft sniffle, leaning into your touch like a cute puppy, wearing a tired yet soft smile, brown orbs staring at you adoringly that's made your heart melt ten times over. "Hmm, it's just a fever love, don't worry too much."

Stroking your thumb softly on his warm cheek, you gave him a knowing look. "I care about you Thomas, I'll always worry a bit more."

Tom lets out a soft chuckle, turning his head to place a sweet kiss on your palm before pulling away from your touch reluctantly. "I know. I don't want you to catch it too though."

You stood up, Tom's eyes following your movement as you took the glass of water off the nightstand and handed it to him. "I'm going to be fine Tom. Now, let me take care you."

He grinned widely at that, corners of his eyes crinkling. "Are you going to baby me? I love getting babied by you." You shook your head at him with a laugh, leaning forward to give his forehead a loving peck, Tom letting out a soft sigh of content at the gesture.

"Drink up bub, you've got to stay hydrated." You thought his grin couldn’t get any wider but it did, a cute giggle coming out of Tom as he followed your instructions, lifting up the glass to his lips and emptied it out, eyes never losing that sweet crinkle.

He truly does love being babied.

Turning to catch a glimpse of the meds, you asked. "Did you drink any medicine today?" Tom shook his head no with a sheepish smile, handing you the empty glass in the process. "I thought I could just sleep it off." You couldn't help but roll your eyes at your boy. "Of course you did."

"I'll go get you some food so you can drink some meds." After earning a soft 'okay', you made your way out of his room, and back in the kitchen to heat up the broccoli and chicken noodle soup you've already made beforehand, and as if moths on a flame, the boys came rushing in the kitchen, nose upturned to see what the tasty smell was.

"Can I have some?" Harry asked, eyes hopeful, Harrison mirroring his expression as they leaned on the kitchen counter. You knew making more than one serving was the right call, especially when Tom lives in a house full of always, hungry lads. "Yes, but don't eat it all up and leave some for your brother later."

Both boys shouted in glee at that, fussing around the kitchen to get their own spoons and bowls, lining up on your right as they waited, like kids at lunch time. You let out a laugh, head shaking at their antics.

With a tray filled with a hot bowl of soup, some ginger tea, and another glass of water later, you made your way back to Tom's room, his head perking up from the pillow the moment he heard your footsteps. A lazy smile was plastered on his lips as he watched you place the tray on his bedside table, sighing at the heavenly smell that managed to slip through his stuffed nostrils.

"I'm such a lucky guy aren't I?" He hummed as he pushed himself back up. Once his back was rested on the headboard, his whole face crinkled, one second pause before letting out a loud, hard sneeze. Tom groaned, hand reaching on the opposite nightstand towards his box of tissues, wiping himself clean and then throwing them in the bin just in front of said nightstand.

You shot him a sympathetic smile. "Bless you."

"I love you." Tom responded with a beam, extending the last vowel, voice soft and sweet with the glow in his eyes to match, and by the gods above he never does fail to make you fawn over him, even when he's ill.

"You're so adorable you know that?" You gushed, running your nimble fingers through his hair comfortingly.

"Thought I look like shit?" Tom raised his one messy brow at you, tone playfully accusing. You giggled. "You do, but still adorable nonetheless. Now scoot."

You sat on the bed once he moved, taking the bowl of soup in your hand, scooping a spoonful and lifting it up to his lips. Tom couldn’t erase the love-struck look he had on his face, his eyes boring into yours, coated with nothing but fondness, humming at the warm, comforting feeling once he ate.

"I thought you just had a fever Tom, didn't know you lost a hand too." Harry joked as he pop his head inside Tom's room. "You're just jealous 'cause you don't have a girlfriend who'd baby you." The older brother mocked, Harry letting out a loud laugh before disappearing back outside.

Once he finished as much soup that he could, you handed him the ginger tea and the meds, a sweet thank you coming out of his lips as he drank. Tom sighed in pure relief, body feeling lighter, fever slowly dropping. It filled your heart with comfort just seeing the color gradually seep back into his skin.

"Warm bath?" You offered, smiling sweetly at him and Tom stared at you, features covered with awe, utter wonder as to how he's managed to have someone like you in his life. "God, I'm so in love with you. I so badly want to kiss you but I don't want you getting sick too and argh the struggle is real darling."

A hearty laugh erupted from your chest at his input, smile all wide as you placed a chaste kiss on his temple, whispering on his skin ever so tenderly. "I love you too, you dork."

You took the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, and after that, you went straight to the bathroom to run him a bath, helping him up and off the bed next. Giggles and laughs bounced off the white tiles as he slowly undressed himself, teasing jokes thrown about before he finally slipped into the bath.

Countless times of begging, from Tom's puppy-dog eyes to his adorable pout, you gave in to his request with a sigh, stripping out of your own clothes and joining him in the tub. You talked about anything and everything, deep thoughts to something silly with Tom situated comfily between your legs, his back rested against your chest, your fingers rubbing at his temples soothingly.

Once the water started to turn cold, you two got out of the bath. Tom gave you a loving hug from behind and a sweet just below your ear, so smitten and in love before letting you go to change into fresh sets of clothes.

Now, both of you were cozily tangled on his bed, the television playing some random show just to fill up the room with soft noise. Tom laid right on top of you, his face pressed on the crook of your neck, warm air tickling your skin as he lets out a gratifying breath.

"Feel better?" You cooed, hand running up and down his back comfortingly. Tom nodded, snuggling closer to your side, placing a warm kiss on your collarbone before murmuring, voice soft and sleepy. "Loads better."

You hummed all satisfied. "Now, get some rest you big baby."

"Your baby." Tom grumbled, breath slowly steadying, indicating that he was slowly drifting off.

You giggled, nodding in agreement and giving him a loving squeeze, turning your head to press your lips on his head sweetly. With tone laced with adoration, completely enamored with the boy in your arms, heart full and oozing with pure love, you whispered,

"My baby."

-:-:-:-:-

Like, Reblog & Leave a Comment if you enjoyed! Lemme know your thoughts! <3

Tom H. Taglist: @spacebitch2 @hollanddolanfangirl @keepingupwiththehollands

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years

Text

Logan's Flawless Plan to Getting Out of Being Sick

Ao3

Summary: Logan was sick. He was well-aware of this fact. He was also well-aware that he had better things to be doing than lying about and ‘resting.’ His husband disagrees Content: Sickfic, fever + coughing are the only mentioned symptoms, brief unsafe binding, one alcohol mention, taking more medicine than the dosage amount, the consequences of that (gaps in time/memory, minor hallucinations, senses going fuzzy), half-collapsing, swearing, transmale!logan, transmale!remy, lots of sappy losleep Pairing: Romantic losleep Notes: Three of them: -Based on this post -You’ll notice Logan doesn’t try to keep Remy from getting sick. This is bc they both know Remy’s already doomed to get sick, given he and Logan live together. This was important to me to say bfchsdf -This story’s in Logan’s POV. And Logan is very loopy. Keep this in mind.

Logan was sick

“You’re not going to work today.”

Terribly, horribly sick.

“Yes I am.”

But that wasn’t going to stop him from doing his job, damnit.

Logan heard his husband sigh as he tried to properly tie his tie for the fifth time. The normally easy, effortless action had become difficult, his fingers slow and fumbling as he tried to pull the loop together. He dropped the fabric with a huff after another attempt failed.

Hands that weren’t his own entered his field of vision, tugging the tie off his neck. “You shouldn’t be wearing this anyways.” Remy murmured, likely tossing it to the side. “You’re already coughing enough without it.”

“I’m not coug-” Logan broke off halfway through his sentence, taking a moment to cough into his arm and think about the irony of the moment, “-coughing that much.”

“Mm-hmm. I call bullshit, darling.” Remy said, brushing some of Logan’s hair behind his ear before resting his hand against Logan’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sick, is what you are.”

“No, I just-” Logan once more paused to cough, Remy guiding him to sit back down on the bed when a few seconds passed and he was still coughing.

“You want to finish that sentence?” Remy asked, tone slightly mocking but mostly concerned.

“Alright, fine. I’m sick.” Logan admitted before continuing on petulantly, “But I’m still going to work.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll just make yourself worse, and you’ll get all your students sick while you’re at it.”

“They have better immune systems, and I‘ll keep plenty of distance between myself and them.” Logan reasoned. “I’m going to work.”

Remy shook his head. “You have a minor death wish, babe. What’s so wrong with staying home and resting and being doted on by your wonderful boyfriend?”

“Husband, Remy, we’re married.”

Remy’s eyes widened in both surprise and recollection, and Logan let out a little content sigh, leaning his head against Remy’s shoulder. “We are, aren’t we?” Remy said, voice joyfully awed.

“We are.” Logan confirmed. “I got you a very pretty ring for it and we exchanged some very cheesy vows and everything.”

“I know. Just forgot for a moment.” Remy said, raising Logan’s left hand so he could press a kiss both to the back of his hand and over his wedding ring. Logan knew he should tell him not to, warn him of germs and the like, but he found it doubtful Remy would listen to him anyways. “Now. What’s so wrong with staying home and resting and being doted on by your wonderful husband?”

“I have important lessons to teach. And it’s unfair to just abandon my students with no warning.” Logan answered. “They at least need a warning that I’m not going to be there tomorrow.”

Remy rubbed circles into the back of Logan’s hand. “You really want to go in, huh.”

“Yes. But only for today, I promise- I’ll stay home tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure you can make it through the day, babe.” Remy said, concern once more leaking into his voice. “Your temp’s real high, and you haven’t even been up for an hour yet.”

“One class then. I can leave a note for the rest of the classes. Please, Rem.” Logan begged. “Just one class.”

Remy pulled his head back a bit, still allowing Logan’s head to remain on his shoulder while also letting him look at Logan’s face. “Why do you want to go in so badly, hun?”

“I promised my students I wouldn’t flake out on them if they didn’t flake out on me. I have to keep that promise.”

“I hardly count being too sick to work ‘flaking out.’”

“Please, Remy, please?” Was Logan’s only response, using his new advantage of Remy being able to see his face by pouting. Remy always folded when he pouted. “One class. Just so I can leave notes for the students. Please.”

Remy’s resolve against his pouting husband lasted for five seconds. “You know I hate it when you do it.” He huffed, though he didn’t sound very annoyed as he moved to card his fingers through Logan’s hair. “One class. That’s all.”

Logan let out a sigh of relief and slumped further against Remy. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Remy said. “But I’m coming with you to make sure you don’t try to stay longer. And you’re staying home tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. And you’re going to get changed into your comfy clothes. You don’t need to be in your polo and slacks right now.”

“Fine.” Logan said neutrally, still just thankful he had managed to convince Remy to let him go at all. Hopefully, going through the motions of the first class would make him feel better, thereby making him less sick, thereby letting him further convince Remy he was fine enough to work the whole day. A foolproof plan. Probably. “Can I at least leave my binder on?”

Remy went stiff next to him, which Logan thought was rude, considering Remy’s shoulder was much nicer to lay against when the muscles in it weren’t so tense. “Hun, please tell me you’re joking.”

“About what?”

“Having your binder on while you’re having coughing fits, that’s what!” Remy said, sounding slightly frantic. “Love, you know I’d give you anything I could, but you need to take that off. Now.”

Logan whined against Remy’s shoulder, not particularly inclined to feel childish for doing so. “I like it on.”

“I know you do, starshine, and normally I do too, but right now I’d really, really like it if it was off of you, okay?” Remy said, still sounding frantic though his voice was very gentle. Ah. That meant he was really worried. Maybe Logan should take the binder off.

“...Alright.” Logan mumbled, trying to not feel too put out. He was sure there was a good reason Remy wanted him to take his binder off. Granted, at the moment, he couldn’t remember it, but he tried not to worry about that. He didn’t need to remember all the important stuff. Remy would remind him. Remy was good like that. Remy was so, so good.

“Alright. That’s good.” Remy said, sounding calmer. He pressed a kiss to Logan’s forehead before getting up, making sure Logan wouldn’t fall over without him supporting Logan’s head before stepping away. “I’mma grab you your sweater, okay? The nice, big lumpy one. And some other comfy clothes. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Logan nodded as he started to tug his shirt off, aware that his polo didn’t count as comfy clothes. Remy nodded with him before turning and wandering out of the room. Logan wasn’t sure where he was going- to be frank, Logan wasn’t completely sure where the door he had gone through led to, but he was sure that wherever Remy was going, it was the right place to be going.

Though it took a fair amount of fumbling, Logan managed to shed his shirt and binder, having moved on to fighting his belt buckle by the time Remy returned.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Remy said, dropping a pile of clothes next to Logan as he easily undid the belt, pulling it free of its loops before helping Logan to pull his pants off as well. “There we go.”

“I took off my binder.” Logan said, a bit abruptly. He knew that Remy could see that the binder was off and next to him, but he felt he had to say it too, just in case, to make sure Remy wouldn’t start sounding frantic and worried again. Logan didn’t like when Remy sounded like that. Remy shouldn’t have to be frantic and worried.

“I know, love, I saw.” Remy said, reaching up to cup Logan’s cheek. “And I’m so proud of you for doing that. You did very good, yeah?”

Logan nodded. “Yeah.”

Remy smiled at him. “Let’s get you into these nice comfy clothes now, okay? Then we can go and make sure you’re not late for class while also being very cozy and very lumpy. And I’ll be lumpy too so we can both suffer the world binder-less together, because I’m pretty sure that’s what true love is.”

“True love is you.” Logan said, and while he wasn’t quite sure where the words came from, or exactly what they meant, he was sure he meant them.

Remy chuckled. “You’re cute when you’re loopy.” He said, picking up the first article of clothing on the pile- a pair of dark sweatpants. “Now come on. Let’s get you dressed.”

It took ten minutes for Logan to get dressed, mostly because he insisted on trying to put on each article of clothing himself, only to be forced to accept Remy’s help when he proved unable to fully pull anything over his head. He did, however, manage to get the pants on by himself, and he decided that was the greatest achievement of his life.

Remy got himself dressed while Logan put on his shoes and prepared his ‘secret weapon’, only taking three minutes to get on an outfit nearly identical to Logan’s, which Logan considered to be unfair. He looked good, too, even in his bigger jacket and with his tousled hair. Logan felt and looked like a lump. A hot, frustrated lump. Though maybe that was the minor fever.

Logan took a swig of his secret weapon and tried not to choke on the taste. Hopefully the fever would be taken care of soon enough. And he could deal with being a lump if it made Remy happy.

At Logan’s grimace after his sip, Remy, who was waiting for his coffee to finish brewing, raised an eyebrow. “Forgot to add the sugar to your tea?”

Logan shook his head. “Not tea.”

“...What is it?”

“My secret weapon.”

Remy frowned. “Logan, honey, I can’t let you drink vodka while you’re sick. Or whiskey. Or whatever alcohol you have in there. And I definitely can’t let you bring it to school-”

“It’s not alcohol!” Logan defended, just managing to bite back on a ‘mostly.’ That wasn’t going to help him or his mission.

Remy’s eyes widened. “Rat poison is worse.”

“Why do you- it’s not rat poison either, I promise.” Logan said, taking Remy’s hand and squeezing it. “It’s just some tea. My throat’s raw, that’s all.”

“...I thought it wasn’t tea?”

“Did I say that?” Logan asked, because he really wasn’t sure. Everything felt fuzzy, memory included. He hoped that meant the secret weapon was kicking in and not that his fever was getting worse. He had things to do.

Remy was still watching him a bit too closely and Logan realized he hadn’t given a very good answer. “We should be going.” He said, hoping that would distract Remy. He knew pushing the point that he was only drinking tea would result in Remy wanting to taste said tea to be sure he wasn’t lying and Logan knew that wasn’t going to work.

Luckily for him, Remy let it slide.

“Yeah, we should.” He agreed, reaching over to grab his coffee before wrapping his free arm around Logan’s waist, pulling him close as they started to head for the door. “I already got the keys in my pocket.”

“I can walk perfectly well on my own, you know.” Logan pointed out, even as he leaned into Remy’s grasp. Just because he didn’t need to be coddled didn’t mean he didn’t like to be near to his husband.

Remy chuckled. “I know, babe, but I also know that you keep wobbling with every other step. I don’t need you adding a bad fall to your list of problems.” He teased. When he got to the door, however, he stopped before opening it, glancing at Logan with light concern. “Are you sure you want to go to work? I know you want to warn your students you’ll be gone, but the more rest you get, the quicker you’ll be better-”

Logan silenced Remy by leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. “I’ll be just fine, dear.” Logan said as smoothly as he could. “But your worry is appreciated.”

Remy didn’t seem wholly convinced, but he still nodded, pressing a quick return kiss to the top of Logan’s head. “Alright. I believe you.” He said before he moved to open the door, somehow managing the feat despite still holding his coffee cup. Leaning slightly more into his touch, Logan allowed Remy to lead him out to the car.

The ride to the university Logan worked at was unimpressive, mostly due to the fact that Logan barely remembered a minute of it. He felt as if all his senses were going fuzzy at the edges, what little focus he had left becoming untrustworthy as he could’ve sworn he saw green stars dancing across the windshield at some point during the drive. The lack of feeling was, however, sufficiently numbing the pain of his fever, so Logan was taking that as a plus.

He only realized they were at the university when Remy was shaking his arm, looking at him funny as Logan partially snapped out of the daze he had been in.

“Are you sure you’re okay, sugar?” Remy asked, sounding once more worried. Logan frowned. He didn’t want Remy to sound worried. “We can go home if you need to…”

Logan shook his head instinctively when he heard home. He couldn’t go home. The whole point of this was to be at work and get into his schedule and pretend everything was fine until it was and feel better so that Remy didn’t have to be worried.

“If you’re sure.” Remy said, though he certainly didn’t sound very sure. Logan frowned more as Remy helped him get out of the car, leaning against him without comment this time. Remy made a very good support. Especially when the entire world was jumping up and down. Repeatedly.

The walk from the parking lot to his classroom was not one Logan remembered, but Logan tried not to let that bother him. He must have drunk more of his secret weapon, though, because the world was starting to become easier to focus on again. The world was also filled with purple and yellow scars that seemed to be tearing apart the fabric of reality, but Logan was fairly certain those were always there.

A blink took him from outside his classroom to inside, where he found his class already waiting for him, all eyes on him and Remy as soon as they entered. Good. They were there, and he could see them clearly. Double win.

“Professor…?” One of the students (send Logan home if he knew which one) said hesitantly. Probably confused by why Remy was there.

Logan patted Remy’s shoulder, hoping that would signal to him that Logan didn’t need his support anymore. Remy promptly let go of him, albeit slowly, watching Logan carefully to make sure he didn’t fall over the moment he stood on his own. Did Logan wobble? No, not at all.

...Maybe a little.

Logan rubbed at the new bruise he had on his hip that may or may not have come from him stumbling into a desk, hard. Okay, maybe a lot. But it was fine, he was fine- he hadn’t fallen over, yet, and that was what really mattered.

By the time he had made it to his desk, set in the center of the front of the room for a reason Logan was sure was very logical, all eyes were on him, including the eyes that were normally still on their phones or closed in faux rest. Another point in his favor. No need to call the class’s attention when he already had it.

Of course, now he needed something to start the lesson with. What was the lesson anyways? Actually, while he was wondering, what class did he teach? How was Logan going to start a class he knew nothing about?

Logan’s gaze flickered to the corner of the classroom, ignoring the sea of concerned looks from his students to focus on the concerned look from Remy, who had even taken his sunglasses off just so Logan could see it. If he had ever had them on. Had he? Didn’t matter. Unimportant. What was important was that Logan had an idea: if he didn’t know how to start class, he would simply steal Remy’s style.

That thought (and no others) in mind, Logan slammed his thermos on top of his desk.

The entire class, Remy included, startled at the noise, all thrown off by it. The only reason it didn’t startle Logan was because he didn’t hear it. At the newly bewildered expressions of everyone in front of him, he cleared his throat, still channeling Remy as he began,

“There’s more pressure in my sinuses right now then there is at the bottom of the sea.” A lie- the real problem Logan was dealing with at the moment was the fever he couldn’t feel but could taste (it tasted peppery, which was appropriate, Logan decided). That and the fact that Logan didn’t think it was humanly possible for his sinuses to be more pressurized than the bottom of the sea. Maybe it was. He should test that.

But not now. Now the class was clearly waiting for him to continue, and continue he would, because he had planned an entire paragraph of this and he was going to say all of it so long as he had vocal cords.

“This,” Logan paused. The container in his hand had a name. Too bad he couldn’t remember it. Logan clicked his tongue, deciding a substitution would have to do before he started again, “This thing’s full of NyQuil.”

That sparked a reaction- gasps from multiple students, and one person he was fairly certain was his husband yelling, “That thing’s full of WHAT!?” Logan nodded to himself. Good. Reactions were good. They meant that his class was following along.

“I’m going to drink it while I teach,” Logan went on, ignoring the continued gasps of shock and possible horror, “and when your heads are replaced by swirling rainbows, I will cancel the rest of class.”

That, of course, was a ridiculous timeline to set. The students’ heads would never become rainbows, swirling or otherwise, which mean Logan wouldn’t have to cancel class, which meant he could teach the full class, which would certainly go over as well in reality as it had in his head, and when Remy saw how well he was doing he’d let him teach for the whole day through. It was a foolproof plan. He truly was a genius.

“Professor… is that safe?”

Logan was pulled from his thoughts and mental back patting by one of the students in the front row. He wasn’t quite sure who they were, probably because their face was blurring into the student’s next to him. He took a swig of the NyQuil. Hopefully that would fix things.

“It’s perfectly safe, as long as I don’t die while doing it.” Logan answered, which was true. Another true thing was that Logan… didn’t know if this was safe. But NyQuil was medicine, so it couldn’t be too bad to take extra of it, right? Right. Right right right right right right-

“Sir, maybe you should go home.” Another student spoke up, sounding concerned. A chorus of agreeing murmurs rose at the suggestion.

“That’s what I told him to do!” Remy added from his spot leaning against the back wall. “But he said he had an obligation to not ‘flake out’ on all y’all lovelies.”

“That’s a great sentiment, prof, but uh… really unneeded.” A student who Logan could see right through said. “We’ll be fine without you for a bit… you should get your rest.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Logan said dismissively, taking another sip from his thing of NyQuil. He no longer cringed at the taste, mostly due in part to the fact he could no longer feel his tongue- therefore meaning he could no longer taste much of anything. “I’m perfectly fine to teach. There’s no need for me to rest.”

“Bullshit.” Remy said, pushing off of the wall and walking towards the stairs, though he didn’t go down them just yet. “I love you hun, but that’s bullshit. Do you even know what you’re teaching today?”

Logan frowned. “Of course I know. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Then teach us.” A student near the back said, which Logan considered rude, because he was fairly certain that student was ganging up with his husband to… something. They were certainly doing something. Something trap-y probably. Normally Logan was very good at avoiding traps. But he had to see them coming to do so.

“I will.” Logan told them flatly, doing his best to look as put-together as he could as he turned down to look at his desk. Surely, his lesson plan was somewhere there. That would have all the answers he currently couldn’t remember.

Luckily for him, his lesson plan was right in the middle of the desk, easy to see and grab. Perfect. Now, if the words on it would just stop dancing, Logan would have everything he needed to convince his husband and class he was perfectly fine.

Logan drank more of his no-longer-a-secret secret weapon as he lifted the paper up to his face, hoping that by decreasing the distance between his face and the paper he would also decrease the dancing of the letters. He was fairly certain it would work because ‘distance’ ‘decrease’ and ‘dance’ all started with the letter ‘d.’

Sadly, his perfect theory was somehow proven wrong- the letters got closer together when he raised the paper, but they didn’t stop dancing, now waving and wiggling in place, as if to spite Logan and his attempts to read them.

“Love?” Logan jerked as he turned towards the source of the word, surprised to find Remy only a few feet away from him. When had he gotten so close? “What are you doing?”

Logan waved his lesson plan at Remy. Wasn’t it obvious? “Checking the lesson plan.” He answered as he took another sip from his thing, ignoring Remy’s frown when he did so.

“I know I’m not a professor, hun, but I think that’s an attendance sheet.”

Now Logan frowned as he moved the paper back in front of his face, squinting at it. It seemed the letters were now willing to still, albeit only a little, just so that Logan could see it was, in fact, a list of student names followed by boxes that, when marked, could indicate a wide variety of things. None of the boxes could, however, tell Logan what his lesson was.

“So it is.” Logan commented neutrally, flipping the paper over to see if perhaps the lesson plan was hiding there. “So it is.”

“Yeah… sweetheart, I’m starting to think it was a bad idea letting you come here.” Remy said, prompting Logan to look up from his search for the lesson plan to focus on Remy instead. That proved hard to do, however, given his face was blurring into a swirl. Logan frowned, feeling distressed. Remy’s face wasn’t supposed to look like that. It was supposed to be pretty and have a chin and brilliant eyes and other features Logan was sure he also loved.

“Your face is wrong.” Maybe if Remy knew his face was wrong, he’d fix it, and it would look right and Logan wouldn’t have to feel distressed and upset and very unable to focus on mundane things such as teaching.

“And you’re proving my point.” Remy responded, though he didn’t seem to be trying to fix his face, which was very unhelpful of him. Though maybe Remy couldn’t see that his face was wrong. Maybe only Logan could because of his stupid fever. Of course it was still messing with him. Nothing another sip of NyQuil couldn’t fix-

“Yeah, we’re not having any more of that.” The thing was taken from Logan’s hands before he could actually get any of the drink into his mouth. He looked at Remy in betrayal as his husband opened the lid and glanced into the container. “How much of this stuff have you drunk, anyways?”

“Not enough.” Logan said, reaching out to take it back. Remy just stepped away, holding the NyQuil out of reach. “Remy.”

Remy just shook his head. “Nope. No more of this for you.”

Logan huffed and stepped towards Remy, reaching out to try and make a grab for the thing. “Let me-”

Remy grabbed the hand that Logan had put out, stopping his attempt and his sentence. “I said nope, sugar.”

Logan’s focus had fallen away from retrieving his NyQuil, however. He was now looking concentratedly at their linked hands, slightly wiggling his fingers in Remy’s grasp- experimentally, not attempting to escape his hold.

“...You good there, hun?”

“Warm.” Was Logan’s only response. Remy tilted his head to the side, confused, before his expression became one of understanding. Still holding Logan’s hand, Remy bent over and placed the thing on the ground before standing back up and moving closer to Logan, taking his other hand in his newly free one.

“Is that nice?” Remy asked, gently, which Logan vaguely registered meant he was trying to lower Logan’s guard and that that was Bad. It was, however, working, as Logan was now fairly certain anything outside of holding Remy’s hands was completely and utterly unimportant.

“Very good.” He said, very eloquently in his opinion. “You’re very good.”

“I know I am.” Remy responded, squeezing Logan’s hands. “I’m so good, in fact, I’m going to take you home now, because I should never have let you leave the house. A mistake, I note, was yours since you used your pout on me knowing full well I would not stand against it.”

“But my classes-”

“Would really prefer you stay home and rest.” A voice that was not Remy’s said. Logan was fairly certain that meant it was one of his students, but he didn’t look to check. He was extremely busy looking at Remy. “You look like you’re going to collapse, prof- just take the day off.”

“I’m fine.” Logan said automatically.

“None of us believe that lie, love.” Remy said as he released one of Logan’s hands. Logan whined at that, and Remy softly shushed him as he moved to rest a hand on Logan’s forehead. “I think the NyQuil’s made your fever worse-”

Remy probably continued speaking after that, but Logan stopped listening, instead choosing to lean into the warmth that was now against his already too-warm forehead. The motion of leaning in was slight, barely a shift at all, but it was also apparently too much, and Logan’s hard fought for balance completely failed him. He tipped forwards, not bothering to try and slow his descent as he began mentally writing his will.

Arms, warm arms, arms that were warm, wrapped around his midsection, stopping Logan from falling all the way over. “And look at that! You’re actually collapsing now. We’re going home, Lo.”

“Mhmmm.” Was all Logan managed. Remy was warm. Remy was really warm. And nice. So nice. Had Logan been trying to work? That seemed silly. Work wasn’t Remy.

Speaking of Remy, he was shifting Logan, pulling him up a bit and resting his head against Remy’s shoulder, arms wrapping more solidly around Logan, all of which were actions Logan was immensely favorable to. He was even warmer, now, and even closer to Remy, and Logan considered these to be very good things.

“I love you.” Logan murmured into Remy’s shoulder, because he decided right then it was very important Remy know that. “You’re very warm. And nice. And warm. And pretty. Very pretty. Too pretty.”

Remy chuckled. “Don’t mind him.” Remy spoke, though Logan got the impression he wasn’t talking to Logan. “He gets sappy when he’s loopy.”

Logan glared at nothing. He wasn’t saying he loved Remy because he was loopy. He was saying that because he loved Remy a lot. More than he loved… planets. And pencils. And peaches.

“You’re not making any sense, starshine.” Remy told him, and Logan realized he had been speaking out loud. Remy pressed a kiss to the top of Logan’s forehead, and he melted even further into his grasp. “But I love you too.”

Logan smiled into Remy’s shoulder, ignoring the background noise of ‘awww’s he was sure was coming from his class. Remy scoffed at them.

“Can we go home now?” Logan asked, because home had bed and bed meant lying down and most of the time lying down meant lying down with Remy and that sounded very nice to Logan right then.

“Of course, honey. Can you walk?”

Logan considered the question for a moment. He probably could walk, if he put his mind to it, given he had mostly walked here and he had been walking earlier. But, if he was going to be Logan (and not Frank, why would he be Frank if he was telling the truth-), he didn’t particularly want to put his mind to it. So he shook his head.

“I think you’re lying.” Remy said, but he still shifted so he could pick Logan up- a move he had perfected back in their courting days as soon as he learned it was a near guarantee to fluster Logan. Instinctively, Logan’s arms wrapped around the back of Remy’s neck and he once more tucked his head into Remy’s shoulder.

“Do you guys, uh… know what to do from here?” Remy asked, the question clearly directed at Logan’s class. “Because I don’t think you’ll be seeing your teach for a good week.”

“You said two days.” Logan mumbled into Remy’s shoulder, though not very aggressively.

“Yes I did.” Remy agreed as he started moving, assumedly towards the door. “That was before you drank half a bottle of NyQuil in an hour and collapsed.”

Logan nodded into Remy’s shoulder. That made sense. Remy was good at sense. Remy was good at a lot of things.

“If anyone asks, we’ll say the professor was here for the full period before leaving.” A student assured Remy.

“And I’ll hold onto his thermos until he gets back!” Another chimed in. “Since you probably want to keep the NyQuil as far away from him as possible for now.”

The class laughed and Remy did too. “Yeah, no, I’m tossing out whatever NyQuil’s left at home. If you get a chance, I highly suggest you dump out the contents of the thermos too.”

“Will do!”

Logan felt Remy nod his head. “Great. So… that was easier to settle than I expected. Though I guess you’re all getting a free class period now.”

“We’ll use it responsibly, Mr. Professor’s Husband.”

“You don’t need to lie to me, kid, I skipped every class I could get away with.” Remy said before he pressed another kiss to Logan’s head. Logan, who was more or less completely asleep, made a little happy noise. “And then I married a teacher. Life’s funny.”

Remy let out a happy little sigh and Logan smiled at his happiness. “That’s enough from me. You kids have a nice day.”

And there was a good chance that something else was said or done after that, but it truly was very cozy pressed against Remy’s chest, and Logan saw no reason to bother keeping awake when Remy was taking care of everything so well. So he didn’t.

Logan wasn’t sure when he woke back up, but he didn’t mind that much. He did know that he was at home and in bed and that was nice. Logan also knew that the NyQuil was at least partially out of his system because his fever was back and it was back with a vengeance. He groaned, turning over and pressing his face into the nearest pillow.

Next to him, he heard Remy laugh, and a hand soon settled in Logan’s hair to card fingers through it. “Hey there, darling.”

“I feel like shit.”

“That’s what happens when you’re sick but you still try to go to work.” Remy softly teased. “And when you drink way too much NyQuil.”

“It was my secret weapon.” Logan protested. Remy laughed again.

“Maybe stick to the more conventional methods of healing next time?” Remy suggested.

“Cuddles?”

“I was thinking more homemade chicken soup and watching old game show reruns, but I suppose cuddles might work too.” Remy said. “Why? Is there a particular reason you mention cuddles?”

Logan huffed as he flopped over, glaring at a very amused looking Remy as he grabbed at his shirt, tugging as well as he could on it to try and pull Remy down. “Don’t be obtuse.”

“Oh you’re so weak- oh, babe, this is sad-” Remy laughed at Logan’s poor attempts to force him to cuddle, gently taking Logan’s hands and holding them in his own. Remy smiled at him. “You’re cute.”

“I’m sick.” Logan responded. “Cuddle me.”

“And why should I do that, now?”

“Because you love me.” Logan told him, shuffling over a bit so that he was closer to Remy, making the pout he then put on more effective. “And I love you.”

“I can’t believe you’re using the pout again.” Remy chided.

Logan pouted harder.

Remy sighed, but he still pulled up the edge of the blankets and sheets, sliding in next to Logan. “One of these days I’m going to find a way to say no to you, you know.”

Logan wrapped his arms around Remy’s chest, pulling him closer and turning his chest into a pillow. “But will you want to?” He mumble asked, not as concerned with the answer as he was with falling back asleep and trapping Remy on the bed with him.

Remy chuckled as he wrapped his arms around Logan as well, seemingly completely alright with becoming trapped as he dropped a kiss on Logan’s forehead. “Never. Because while you may have proven today that you can be wrong of many things, you did get one thing very, very right.”

“Oh?” Logan hummed, only half-interested in knowing what he had gotten right.

“Even if you do stupid things like go to work sick and bind while sick and try to drink NyQuil like it’s water, I still love you.” Remy said sweetly, once more running his fingers through Logan’s hair to help further lull him back asleep. “And as such I will always want to say yes to you.”

Logan let out a small laugh. “You’re a sap.”

“You should’ve heard yourself earlier, hun.” Remy said, chuckling when Logan’s only response was a hum and snuggling closer to Remy. “I’ll tell you about it later. Go to bed, starshine. I’ve got nowhere else to be and nothing better to do than love you.”

Deciding he’d mock Remy’s accidental rhyme later, Logan happily did as his husband said, putting aside the burn of his fever to focus on Remy’s comfortable, loving warmth, quickly falling into a sleep as gentle as Remy’s embrace.

#losleep #ts logan #ts sleep #ts remy #the cryptid speaks #fanfic #fanfiction #ts sides #sanders sides #sickfic #this is v self-indulgent i hope y'all know shbdjfs #also i dislke the ending but eh endings always suck abfhsjdf #bls enjoy my chaotic stupid logan and his loving husband #also i've never taken too much nyquil so idk if logan's experience is accurate #bls for the love of goodness do not test this #don't be chaotic stupid that's logan's job

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suchdan-veryphil · 3 years

Text

A Whole Ass Baby? - Jack Barakat Imagine

Anonymous said:

How about a Jack Barakat headcannon/whatever you wanna write about you two finding out that you’re gonna have a kid? I need more Jack content tbh

Word Count: 2,367

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, getting sick, sex mention, menstruation mentioned, doctors

A/N:

This is the second time I put something back in my drafts instead of posting it when I was done. And this is now the second time I was sad that a post wasn’t getting notes when it was never posted. I will do better. This took forever, but here it is. I love Jack Bassam Barakat. I love writing Jack Barakat. I am HERE FOR THIS

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It had been three weeks since I started feeling nauseous. I would just be sitting down and be hit with a sudden wave of nausea, like I was on a boat for too long. I could still eat, I could still drink, I could still shake my ass to Mr. Brightside but if I sat for too long I would just be hit with the feeling that it was time to vom.

Then two weeks ago, I was fine. The nausea was gone, the world was bright again.

Then about two days ago, it hit me again. I couldn’t eat anything that wasn’t toast, crackers, a banana, or water (although the water was a hit or miss). Too much of anything caused me to be violently sick, and unfortunately for me, “too much” of most things meant one bite. Otherwise, I felt fine. No aches and pains, no headache, no fever. I wasn’t thinking too much about it, though, mostly for those reasons.

Meanwhile, Jack was pounding back cake, pizza, ribs, wings, margs, and everything in between four or five times a day without a second thought. I was honestly jealous.

We were sitting on our sofa, watching The Office. I was laying on two of the cushions and he was sitting on the third, resting his elbow on my knees. I watched as he popped three pizza rolls into his mouth at once and started chewing rather loudly. In response, I groaned and pushed his shoulder with the pad of my foot.

“Do you have to enjoy the good food in the house when I’m sick?”

He started to reply, but I couldn’t understand him with all of that food in his mouth. It was a low grumble, and he was starting to drool a pizza stained slobber the more he attempted to speak.

“What?! I can’t understand you,” I chuckled a little and sat up before wiping his nasty spit out of his beard. He chewed the food and quickly swallowed before answering.

“I said, if I don’t eat it then nobody will and that’s a shame. Besides, I still think you should go to the doctor.” He popped another roll in his mouth and looked over at me.

“I disagree. My stomach has just been off. I have literally zero other symptoms.”

“You haven’t eaten in like a week. You need to go to the doctor.” Jack raised his eyebrows at me and stared intently. He was probably right, but I hated the doctors and he knew this.

“If I don’t feel better by Sunday, I’ll go to the doctor. Okay? Just two days.”

We just stared at each other, both of us begging the other to give in silently. I leaned in and did my best to pout my lip without it being obvious.

I could tell the second that he went to inhale deeply through his nose that I had won.

“Thank you,” I leaned over and kissed his cheek gently.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to.” I kissed his cheek once more, getting a whif of his greasy lunch. It hit my stomach instantly, bringing me to my feet and to the bathroom to empty whatever small contents that were left.

That was definitely the universe giving me some sort of karma.

I could feel his hands rubbing my back as I leaned over the toilet and waited to see if anything else was going to invite itself up.

With a deep breath, I grabbed some toilet paper and wiped my mouth before flushing and sitting on the cold tile.

“Do you feel better?” Jack continued to rub my back. I took a second to listen to my body, and also to get reoriented. After a moment, I nodded my head and pressed my palms against the floor to push myself off of the ground. I was only a few inches off the ground when I started to feel dizzy and fell back into Jack’s arms. I closed my eyes and put my hand up to my forehead.

“Ok, let’s go to the doctor.” I leaned against the sink counter and collected myself before I began to brush my teeth.

I could see Jack’s face become instantly relieved through the mirror as I spoke.

“I’ll get the keys.”

Within the minute, we were getting into the car and buckling up. Jack reached over as we stopped at a light and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.

“Well you don’t have a fever.” His hands dropped to hold mine, fingers interlaced.

“I know, that’s why I really didn’t want to go anywhere. I’ve had stomach aches before,” I sighed and rubbed circles along his hand with my thumb.

Jack nodded and focused on driving. “I know. I know,”

It wasn’t long before we were in the waiting room of my doctor’s office. I was busy concentrating on not getting sick in front of the other patients waiting to be seen and Jack took out his phone to play a game.

I stared at his phone screen as he made switched pieces of candy to watch them pop. I concentrated so hard on the screen that I didn’t hear when they called my name.

“Hey, that’s you.” Jack locked his phone and elbowed my arm as I came to.

“Oh. Oh, I’m coming. Sorry.” I turned and handed Jack my bag. “Can you hold this?” He just nodded and slung it over his shoulder casually and continued to scroll through his phone.

I followed the RN into the examination room and sat on the chair with the noisy white paper on it. “So, Y/N, what brings you in today?”

I sighed and sat back on the chair, making the paper rustle. “Well, I haven’t been feeling well for the last couple of weeks. I have bad nausea, I can’t keep anything down. Today, my boyfriend was eating a pizza roll and just the smell made me sick. I got really light headed in the bathroom after getting sick. I don’t have a fever or anything, but Jack, my partner, is set on me getting seen so... here we are.”

I let out a breath and watched as the nurse processed everything. “Are you on any medication? Any change in your diet or exercise routine?”

“Nope, I’m still not on anything and I still don’t diet or exercise.” We both chuckled at my little joke before she nodded and started to take my temp and my blood pressure.

“Sexually active?” She asked, releasing the air from my arm band.

I nodded my head and watched as she removed the band. “Yes indeed.”

“Do you use contraceptives?”

“We do.”

“When was your last menstrual cycle?”

“Um,” I paused and thought back to when the last time I got my period was. I couldn’t remember, which was probably not the best sign.

“I’d like to give you a pregnancy test to rule it out before the doctor goes and prescribes you something, if that’s alright.” She opened a cabinet and began to reach for whatever she was grabbing as I answered.

“Yea, that’s fine.” I could feel my palms begin to get sweaty as I thought of the possibility that I was pregnant. Me? A mom? I couldn’t imagine it. I slept until almost noon most days and ate mac and cheese for most meals. There was no way I could be a mom.

Jack as a dad, though, that was something I could see. He was always ready to take care of others and make someone laugh. Jack was someone who had a lot of patience, was goal-driven, and just made everyone happy. I tried to imagine what it would be like if he had a tiny baby to love and care for, but I was pulled back by the nurse who handed me a cup.

“Here you go, just pee in this and leave it on the shelf over the sink with your birthday written on it. You can come back in here when you’re done and we’ll let you know what we get and take it from there.”

I took the small plastic container in my hands and sighed as I looked at it. Getting up from the seat, I couldn’t help but notice my cheeks started to hurt. I could not stop smiling, just imagining that Jack and I could possibly be having a baby.

Once I reached the bathroom, I followed the nurse’s instructions step-by-step and washed my hands thoroughly. All I could think was “I should have drank more water today” and “Jack and I might be parents”.

Sitting back on the seat, I bit my lip and rested my head back in the headrest. Jack had no idea what was going on in this room. He was just sitting in the waiting room with my purse over his shoulder, playing Candy Crush or scrolling through TikTok.

I could feel another wave of nausea hit and I silently prayed to whatever higher power would listen that I would not throw up in this office. All of my energy went into holding in whatever it was that was threatening its way up. To my demise, I was quickly pulled to my feet and hunched over a garbage can to hurl. Between heaves, I heard the door open and close before being met with the voice of my nurse.

“Well, I think we know why you’re getting so sick.” The water turned on and I soon saw a cup of water in my line of vision along with a tissue. I took both gratefully once I knew I was done before wiping my mouth and drinking the water. I threw the cup and tissue in the trash before sitting and apologizing.

“I can take that out with me, I’m so sorry. Thank you.” I was rambling at this point, feeling just embarrassed that she had walked in on that.

“Don’t worry about that. Grosser things have happened here, trust me. We’ll get it taken out once you leave. Now, I have news that could be either really good or really bad depending on how you take it but know that there are options from here.”

Somehow, this only confused me so I just nodded in hopes that she would get to it.

“You’re pregnant. This would explain the sickness, the lack of appetite, the lack of fever, and the lack of a period.”

My heart started to race and I could hear it pumping in my ears. “Wow.”

It was all I could muster before I looked at her and smiled a little. “Can... can we go get Jack?”

“Of course! I’ll go get him, I just didn’t want to tell you in front of him just in case.” She smiled back at me and left the room for a minute before returning with Jack, who was still holding my purse over his shoulder. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I saw him looking so non-chalant with it.

“Hey you. Is everything okay?” He reached out his hand to grab mine before squeezing gently and looking at the nurse and then back at me.

“Yea, everything’s fine.” I smiled widely at him and bit my lip before looking at the nurse.

“Well we figured out why Y/N has been getting so sick.” The nurse started before she looked at me. I nodded and held back my tears as she continued. “She’s pregnant.”

Jack was silent for a second before he looked down at me. “Wait. What?” He smiled widely and dropped my bag to the ground before taking my other hand and squeezing them tightly.

All I could do was nod.

“A baby?” He asked and tilted his head, much like a dog would when confused.

I chuckled and nodded my head. “A baby, Jack.”

I was barely finished with my sentence before he leaned down and wrapped me up in his arms tightly.

“Oh my god. A whole ass baby. A kid. A child.” he rubbed my back over a few times before leaning back and holding my face in his hands.

“So you’re happy?” I asked and smiled widely, reflecting his. Jack let out a quick, “ha” before leaning in and kissing me deeply.

Once we separated, he bit his lower lip and glanced down at my stomach. “How far along are you?”

I shrugged, and the nurse chimed in momentarily. “By the looks of your period chart, it would look like you’re about 7 weeks along. I’ll give you guys a few minutes, but when you’re ready you can go to the front and make an appointment with us for within the next few weeks and we can follow up.”

“Thank you.” was all Jack or I could muster as she excused herself. He looked down at me and dropped his jaw.

“A whole baby!”

I laughed and nodded. “Yes! A whole ass baby! Growing in here!” I poked my stomach and chuckled before I bit my lower lip to contain the smile.

“So you bothered me and pestered me about condom usage and we ended up getting knocked up anyways.” Jack commented. I gently and playfully pushed his shoulder and shook my head.

“Oh shut up, Barakat. Looks like that wine room is getting turned into a nursery.”

“Says you. I was thinking your office would be comfier.”

I laughed a little and shook my head. “Yes, because we need a wine clubhouse AND a wine closet. Sorry, how dare I?”

With a smile, Jack helped me up to my feet and held my hand. With his free hand, he picked up my bag and handed it to me.

“I’m carrying a child and you want me to carry my bag too?” I teased as I reached for it. Quickly, he pulled it back and slung it over his shoulder again.

“Fine, I look better with it anyways. It’s definitely not your color,” he said and lead the way to the front reception area.

The way my heart swelled with love and joy told me that I was on a very eventful and joyous journey with my boyfriend and our growing family.

#Jack Barakat #jack barakat oneshot #jack barakat imagine #jack barakat fic #jack barakat blurb #all time low #all time low fic #bandfic #jack barakat x reader #jack barakatxreader #dad!jack barakat #jack barakat fluff

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Merry & Bright {25}: A Newborn King

Previous: Happy Anniversary

youtube

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Parenthood AU

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing!

Summary: A new baby is born.

Shock and awe radiated throughout the small hospital room as the doctor informed you and Taehyung of the most important information of your lives thus far.

“Your due date is around December 25th, give or take 5 days depending on conception,” Dr. Lee said.

Dr. Lee had been your doctor for over a year now, guiding you through the end of your birth control and helping you prepare your body for pregnancy. She had recommended books, foods to try to boost fertility, and taught you how to track your cycle via apps and through measuring your body temp and keeping notes. She had seen you through until this moment, a few weeks after you discovered you were indeed pregnant, and would see you through until your child would need their own pediatrician. She saw you through as trying to get pregnant became a chore and was no longer fun, through the fears of infertility, through the miscarriage of your first, gone before they’d had a chance, no name, no heartbeat, just, gone. To this baby, your rainbow baby, your miracle as Taehyung called it, and she never wavered in her dedication to supporting you both.

Which, a few months later when you went in for your 20-week ultrasound and she asked if you wanted to know the sex of your baby, she delivered the news delicately and with grace. All you wanted was a healthy baby, regardless of sex, regardless of gender presentation, all you wanted was a healthy baby.

“Mr. & Mrs. Kim, you are having a boy,” Dr. Lee said smiling, teeth gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She gaged your reaction and couldn’t tell who was more excited, you or Tae. Tae was the first to cry, cry was kind, he sobbed. Openly, head finding its way to your neck where he burrowed himself, body shaking, snot unfortunately mixing with your perfume. You held him, knowing the significance of this moment.

All Taehyung wanted was to be a father. Before you’d met, he’d spend some of his downtime imagining his future family, what his wife would look like, who his kids would take after, days spent playing and laughing, love overflowing. Then he met you, and everything fell into place. Before you’d married, you’d discussed when you wanted to have children, how many you wanted, and what it would mean for your careers. You’d settled on some rough numbers, knowing full well your decisions could change. Upon your first anniversary, you revisited the timeline, were you ready now? The answer was no, on both of your parts, and you put off discussing it for two more years, until baby fever hit. Everyone was having kids, or so it seemed. The primal desire to procreate became deafening and you sat at your kitchen table, staring at one another, deciding you were ready. Being ready didn’t prepare you for the eighteen months of trying, the miscarriage, the reality that this maybe wasn’t in the cards for you, the doctors visits, the books read, the articles shared.

But it led you here, to a hospital room, as the hours of Christmas Eve bled into Christmas day, epidural in, dilating slowly, Taehyung frantically calling everyone.

“Tae, please, just text them,” Your voice was calm, after all, you couldn’t feel anything past your hips.

“It’s too important to call!” He says, frantically moving to the next person.

“Who are you calling?”

“I called our parents, yours multiple times,” Taehyung takes his baseball cap off, a gift from your father, and runs a hand through his black locks before putting it back on, bill resting on the back of his head.

“They live in the states, they’re asleep,” You remind him.

“I know, took several tries. Then I called your sister, my siblings, Bang, management, Namjoon, Jimin,”

“You only called Namjoon and Jimin?” You inquire.

“Namjoon will tell everyone else, Jimin’s my-

“Soulmate,” You finish, eyes rolling.

“You’re my soulmate,” Taehyung says, taking your hand in his, twirling your wedding band.

“Then why does Jimin have a song saying the opposite? A song that you’re on?” You tease.

“That was before we met,” He reassures.

“You only get one soulmate, Kim Taehyung,”

“Mine’s you,” He says, finally setting his phone down to stand next to your hospital bed, a kiss placed on your forehead. “We’re going to be parents soon,”

“I feel bad for the kid,” You say.

“Why?”

“A Christmas birthday! That’s terrible!”

“How so?”

“You don’t get double presents on a Christmas birthday, you get the same amount,”

“He can have as many presents as he wants,”

“So, we’re going to spoil him?”

“You know what I mean,” Taehyung smiles, if raising Yeontan taught anyone anything, it was that Taehyung was going to be a firm and loving father. Yeontan was trained well, listened to directions and followed through. You hope Tete would apply the same love and care to your child, though hope is the wrong word. You know he will.

It was another area you had to prepare for, the insecurity of parenthood. Taehyung had broken down numerous times, to you, to his father, asking for any advice, any guidance on how Tae could be such an incredible father, like his was. Books did little to comfort him, nor talking to Namjoon or Seokjin. They’d try to tell him he already had it in him, he could do it, but he didn’t believe it. His existential crisis had bled into every stage of your pregnancy, each month brought new concerns, new fears of unworthiness, wondering what he brought to the table. He was just a boy from Daegu. What could he give?

“I do,” You shift, suddenly uncomfortable as the monitor makes a sound it hasn’t made in your six hours at the hospital. You glance at Taehyung, who noticed the change before glancing at the door as your nurse comes in.

“Let’s check on baby,” She says evenly. You can tell something might be wrong, but she isn’t giving much away. “Well, you are fully dilated, baby seems to be in a bit of distress. I am going to get Dr. Lee and she will walk you through what’s to happen next, okay?”

Before you or Taehyung can respond, she’s out the door.

“Is he going to be okay?” Taehyung whispers, eyes brimming with tears.

“Please, don’t cry,” You respond. “I can’t do this if you’re crying,”

“Okay, okay,” He says, turning his back to you. You catch his reflection in the mirror and watch him mutter a few words to himself, trying to pull himself back together.

Dr. Lee walks into your room in a state far less calm than the nurse.

“Mr. & Mrs. Kim, it seems that your son has decided he’s tired of waiting!” She pulls the stool closer to you as the nurse places your legs in the stirrups. “Let’s give him a little check.”

You feel the pressure of her hand between your legs, checking how far dilated you are. She’s standing, gloves coming off as she presses her hands on your belly, trying to determine the position of your son.

“You are ten centimeters,” She says stepping back, “And he is breach, he wasn’t breach when we checked on him earlier, but in the past ten hours, he’s moved. He seems to be in distress, which could be because he has turned himself around, or because he’s wrapped his umbilical cord around himself, either way, we need to deliver now.”

“Do I need a c-section?” You ask, eyes wide, mind racing.

“We’re going to try and deliver him vaginally, but if he is getting worse through the pushing, we will need to take you into surgery,” Dr. Lee moves to speak with the nurse, and Taehyung sheds his sweatshirt.

“Do you want me to sit behind you?” He asks, knowing this is your favorite position from your birthing class.

“Please, can you, can you play the tape from Hypno-Birthing?” You ask. In preparing for labor, you’d dedicated part of your studies to hypno-birthing, a way to manage your breathing and walk your body through the process of labor. It was extremely popular, and as Taehyung crawled behind you, he began walking you through your breathing exercises and mantras.

“My body was designed to do this. I am ready to give birth. My body and my baby set the pace. My partner and I are a team,” You repeat as you inhale and exhale, Taehyung behind you, whispering the words in your ear.

“Your body was designed to do this. You are ready to give birth. You body and our baby set the pace. We are a team,” He repeats over and over as Dr. Lee and her team guide you through changing positions, adjusting the height of your legs, and instructing you when to push.

Taehyung keeps repeating your mantras, keeps encouraging you, keeps breathing with you as you undergo the most transformative moment of your lives.

Taehyung hadn’t grown up wealthy, or well off. He didn’t have lush presents, or dreams of being anything other than what he saw around him. He could be a farmer, he would be a farmer, in the furthest reaches of his mind, a saxophonist. When he accompanied his friend to that audition… He didn’t know what would be possible for him, him, the son of farmers, raised by his grandmother. When he was the last to join BTS, he didn’t come baring gifts of gold, or endless confidence or talent. He came meek and mild, willing to give himself to the group, fully, wholeheartedly, without question. He came untainted with the pressures of the world, wide eyed, boxy smile, he had no gifts to give but himself.

ARMY said that Taehyung was born on the penultimate day of 1995 so that Jiminie wouldn’t be alone, but as he held his son, his first born, his beloved, and as his son molded in his arms, finger wrapped around his, Taehyung knew he was born that day so his son would never be alone.

Next: Anticipating

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bigowlenergy · 4 years

Text

heat + horror

next chapter of How to Raise the Dead!

Maddie stands at the door to the basement, hazmat tied down around her waist, staring into the green dark. To her left, the cicada scream en mass. The refrigerator hums at her back. The portal buzzes below. The cold air that swirls up the steps is incredible against the summer heatwave. Maddie. Wants to go down. Hesitates, still.

Danny is down there.

Maddie loves her son, but she loves her daughter, too, and knows better than to bother Jazz when she’s trying to finish a paper and watch the finale to her latest K-drama at the same time (again) and expect anything but getting snapped at and increasing her stress. The experience is just new, with Danny. He was always the relaxed one, but once it hit 80 degrees in the house, the basement became his domain, with the same low tolerance for interruption. With an extra edge of physical discomfort and medical concern. Maddie just doesn’t want to upset him further. It feels like she does that all too often, but Danny just won’t say anything when she does. It’s hard to understand him. She wants to, but he’s pulled so far away from them already...

“Hey, mom.” Jazz stands in the entryway, kicking her flip flops off, two bags of gas station ice slung over her shoulders. “He moved yet?” She asks.

“No, I don’t think so. I was just about to check,” Maddie offers, stepping in to take the second bag from Jazz. She’d stepped out to get some water. Hadn’t gone back. Condensation from the ice leaks down her shoulders, sticks her hair to her neck. Instant relief.

“Alright.” She says. “You coming down? It’s cold.”

And Maddie hesitates at the mouth of the threshold, for just a moment.

“Sounds nice,” She tells the stairs, hidden under the clanging of Jazz’s steps.

At the bottom, all she can see is the ring of lawnchairs and the little blow up kiddie pool that Jazz is dumping her bag of ice in. The clear vinyl tubing of the cheap outdoor furniture catches every refraction of green light from the open portal. An oversized alien dollhouse in Maddie’s lab. The smell of squeaky fresh plastic overwhelms the ectoplasm. The basement has always been climate controlled, and underground besides, so the downright frosty air that the open portal adds to the mix creates the strange atmosphere of a sauna in winter. Inverted.

But the chilliest thing by far is Danny.

Maddie finally gets a good look at him when Jazz collapses back into her own chair, sticking her feet into the pool with a great heaving sigh. Maddie appreciates her running to the store for them. It’s nearly 110 out. She goes to dump her part of the ice in and nearly fumbles to keep from pouring it straight over Danny’s head. He’s buried up to his chest, now. What she thought were odd shadows from the portal are actually his folded knees, the only other part not under ice. His eyes are glazed and dull, staring sightlessly into the green vortex, his head pillowed on the wet plastic rim of the pool. Soaked hair drawn back by one of Jazz’s headbands drips slowly onto the concrete floor. Maddie frowns at that. They specifically asked the kids to make sure nothing in the lab was exposed to water. Should have put a towel down.

She probably can’t blame Danny for lack of foresight. He doesn’t look good.

“Hi, sweetie,” Maddie whispers, tucking the ice in around his legs instead.

His blank expression doesn’t change as he belatedly mouths ‘hi’ back to her.

“Drink your slush,” Scolds Jazz, kicking at the ice idly. Danny’s buried hands slowly tip the half melted slushie toward his face. The straw rests in his mouth for a while, but Maddie’s fairly sure he doesn’t drink any. Her poor baby. Jazz had picked it up for him the first time she went to the store, nearly three hours ago.

Maddie pulls her hands from the ice and wipes them on her shirt. Goes to the monitoring station set up on the side of the portal. The nodes taped to Danny’s neck are probably the only things keeping him from fully submerging himself. His oxygen levels are lower than his usual terrifying baseline of 87%, hovering in the 84-86% range, and his heartrate is just short of clinical death. Most worryingly, his temperate is reading at nearly 80 - a deadly fever, considering his normal 71.3.

Maddie wishes they knew how to really help him. This feels strangely like a - not like a test, not really, but like something is being withheld from them. Like Danny knows what to do, but is still too scared to tell them. Like it’s something he doesn’t want them to know, another little secret on the pile. A tiny declaration of loss of trust.

Or he’s afraid of them knowing.

Not that he could tell them, right now. He’s been basically unresponsive to even the most drastic of stimuli since his internal temp hit 75 an hour ago. Jack had driven out for the lawn furniture around that time, helped wrangle Danny out of the bathtub and into the lab for better monitoring, then disappeared again a few minutes ago. Maddie has an inkling of what he’s up to, so she’ll just hold down the fort and see what happens.

But Danny. Looking at this array, she has the clinging idea that this would be easier for him if he was a ghost. But even now, he’s so hesitant about letting them see him. Has never, in word or deed, trusted them with that. It’s an open secret. What he is.

Who he is.

Jazz knows; Maddie knows she known for some time now. Maddie knows. Does Jack? Maddie knows. She tries to imagine that alien presence in this little family tableau. More green in the air. An extra buzz of static under the portal. White hair, dripping. Maddie knows, but it feels like she knows less than she did three weeks ago.

She’s seen Phantom with her own eyes. Seen him fly and fight and snarl like an animal. Seen him bounce and smile and joke. How does he do it? Maybe Maddie just isn’t ready for the perfect intersection of those things yet. Does - does Danny’s ghost leave his body?

Is Maddie really ready to face her sons’ corpse and his ghost at the same time?

Jazz splashes suddenly, feet shifting, head tipped back dramatically off the edge of her seat, hair in a huge bun, wearing her only pair of shorts. Little embroidered ghosts on the hem. Would he electrify the pool, if he changed?

Maddie sucks in a breath and drags her eyes back to the monitor. Maybe it would be better if he did. Actually. The shock might be what he needs to stabilize his heart. He’s obviously reliant on cold temperatures to facilitate stronger conductivity of his electrical impulse based neurology. Like any other ghost. He’s losing stability of consciousness. Unable to rely on the physical, chemical reaction based impulses of the li - of humans. Maddie’s trying not to think about it. She doesn’t want to think about it. The monitor won’t tell her anything else.

Danny, the ghost, Danny, her son, is suffering from mild destabilization and his human body is too close to brain dead to keep him from -

God, Maddie is glad she doesn’t know.

Jack, bless that man, saves her from her thoughts by clambering down the stairs.

“Icecream!” He calls, voice pitched less exuberantly loud than usual. In deference of the small lab space, empty of the usual noise of running machines, or in deference to Danny. Or her own nerves. Jack hands Jazz a pint of strawberry pistachio and a spoon, sets a bag near the pool and then appears at Maddie’s side. Kisses her cheek. Glances at the monitor.

“How’s he doing?” He asks, handing her her own pint and a fork. Pecan Caramel soymilk.

“Not much worse. But we don’t know beyond his baselines, so it could mean anything. Temperature’s been stable for the last twenty minutes.” Maddie digs out the first pecan she sees and keeps it in her mouth to cool her sensitive teeth. Offers nothing else. Jack can read the screen. If he arrives to the same conclusion, then they’ll talk about it upstairs. Away from the kids. Hopefully, Danny’s too busy barely existing to overhear, if it comes down to it.

Jack nods, bullshooter blue eyes sweeping over the monitor. One huge, extremely hot hand rests on her back, goes to rub soothingly, but Maddie shoos him with her fork.

“You’re cold!” He says delightedly, sticking his hands on the folds of her turned down hazmat. He spares her a smile, then snaps his attention back to the screen. Lingers on Danny’s oxygen levels. “Well,” Jack says, straightening up, “Let’s try to get his internal temperature down a bit, then. Come on, Danno!”

He unties the cloth bag and pulls out a full gallon of icecream. There is no room in the freezer for that.

“Okay, buddy, I got us a real treat, straight from the farmer’s market creamery, you know, the people with the ecto-infected cows we helped out last spring? Got us a discount! Anyway, it’s custom. Chocolate icecream, fudge pieces, cacao nibs, coconut shavings, sprinkles, cookie bits, and those little soft dough chunks -” He cuts off, leans in closer to the pool, watches Danny intensely for a few seconds. “Yep! Extra cookie pieces. Wanna try some?”

Jack sticks two spoons in the open gallon and sets it aside. Gently eases the mostly ignored red slushie out of Danny’s hands and passes it off to Jazz. She doesn’t hesitate to pour some of it over her icecream. Maddie shudders. Bites her pecan. Takes a seat.

Jack pulls a shop towel out of his shorts pocket and soaks it in the pool, then wipes his face with it before slinging it around his neck. Takes a tiny spoonful of the icecream and starts to set it in Danny’s direction.

“Just try a bit, Danno. I’ll let you drink dry ice again,” He cajoles. Maddie whips her head up to glare at him. Jazz shrieks with her mouth closed, prevented from yelling properly by a well timed frozen strawberry. Jack ignores them both. He’d better have a damn good reason and some damn good results.

He gets Danny to eat a little, at least. He’d refused dinner last night, and it’s almost 7 PM, now. After a while, Jack leans in again. All Maddie can hear from a bare few feet away is a quiet, wet little rasp.

Jack beams his most reassuring grin at their son. “Of course it’s got ectoplasm in it; it’s for you, Danny-boy!” He says. And. That might be the first time any of them have put it to words. Admitted it out loud. It should feel like a taboo broken, but somehow, it eases a little relief into the atmosphere. A confession they all share.

Then Jack frowns a bit. Eyebrows drawn down in concern when he says “Is it not enough?”

Danny shakes his head, a light tremble of motion. The wet plastic squeaks under his neck. Lies still. Jack sits back, looks up to Maddie. Jazz is leaned back in her seat, staring down at Danny with a sharp frown of disapproval on her face. A fierce set to her eyes that tells Maddie everything she needs to know.

“We’ll get you more, sweetie,” Maddie tests the waters carefully, kneeling down across from Jack, sets a hand on Danny’s drying hair, keeps Jazz in her sights. Danny closes his eyes and shakes his head again, turning further into her palm and sighing quietly. A low, tired sound of dismissal. Not for Maddie. Jazz looks away, guilt and worry plain on her face. Bites her lip. Lids her icecream and mumbles an excuse of a goodbye, looking a bit mutinous as she leaves.

Maddie has to wonder if she should step back from this. Let Jazz do whatever needs to be done that Danny is hiding from them. But she can’t. These are her children; they shouldn’t need to be providing something for themselves. It’s her duty to care for them.

But. She is also an ectobiologist. Knows damn well what ghosts need. Has done in-field observations on this sort of thing for at least a decade.

It’s not the amount of ectoplasm that matters. It’s the source.

They can’t provide what Danny needs from the lab.

Sure, they’ve never seen Phantom feeding, but he’s so rarely seen at all. Elusive. Non-normative behavior. Maybe -

An incomplete hypothesis has never sat well with her. Her son being miserably sick while she has the power to help him is not sitting any better.

“Danny,” She says firmly, gently taking his cold face in her hands and wincing at the mincing slowness of his pulse under his jaw. “Please, just tell us what’s wrong, honey.”

Something thumps upstairs. What is Jazz doing? Maddie had assumed she left the house. To get. Something. Bring something back? Get a ghost they know to help?

Maddie’s seen ghosts negotiate and willingly feed from each other. The statistically significant ratio of mutual encounter to violent attack was one of the things that tipped the scales for Maddie and Jack on whether ghosts have the capacity for civilized society or not.

If Danny has some sort of pact or agreement with a local ghost, then Maddie is intensely interested in learning every detail of it. As both his mother, and as an ectobiologist. Jazz probably has extensive notes.

Upstairs, something drags across the floor. Maddie jumps at the noise.

“I’ll go check,” Jack offers, glancing guiltily back to Danny before heading up the stairs.

Maddie turns her attention back to Danny and actually feels her heart skip a beat when she finds him staring up at her with dull, glazed eyes. His face too-still and eerie in the green light of the buzzing portal. It dyes him colors he shouldn’t be. She takes in a breath, and calms herself, confused by her own reaction. She’s been exposed to high levels of ectoplasm for nearly two decades. Maddie lost her innate terror-reaction to ectoentities years ago. This is completely unfamiliar to her.

But the way Danny’s too blank face flashes into guilt as he flinches and tries to pull away is not. It’s the same reaction as Jazz earlier.

Guilt. Something withheld. Upstairs, something drags against the wood floors again. Slow, deliberate.

“Danny -” She starts, concerned. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and turns away from her. Mouths something that she reads as sorry. A creak on the stairs. The lights flicker. Maddie jolts back in a crouch immediately, hand falling to where her weapons should be. One hand on Danny. Assuring his location. Her other hand closes on nothing. Of course not. Maddie doesn’t wear her weapons around Danny. Not any more. There’s nothing there. She forces herself into a more relaxed stance with some difficulty.

What could they have upstairs for this? Surely there’s not another ghost living in their house? Maddie would like to think that a second instance would be ridiculous. Maybe a hidden freezer of ectoplasmic samples? She looks down at the human ghost in her lab. Maybe he needs a rare type of ectoplasm, due to his unusual biology? His half human biology.

Half human. Needing ectoplasm and emotion, but also needing food. Maddie’s heart picks up uncomfortably, sits high in her throat. At the other end of the room is the wall safe with the Nightingale journals. The myths and accounts and legends of violent ghosts. Hunted for their danger to humanity. Their hunger. Maddie and Jack have long discounted or disproved those old folk tales.

But then again, they’d also disproved the existence of something like Danny.

“Danny -” She tries again, watching the way he’s turned away from her intently. Mouth pressed in a thin, unhappy line. Every ounce of him tense, entombed in ice.

Jack bounds down the stairs. Maddie jolts to her feet. He’s got the bulky old TV from the sitting room in his arms. Maddie’s heart is pounding, her mind blank.

“We’ve got the cure, Mads!” He cries. Jazz follows, carrying the DVD player and a stack of DVDs.

In the pool, Danny shudders strongly enough to stir the ice. Moans out “No,” loudly enough to be heard.

“Shut up, Danny.” Jazz says firmly. “You need this.”

Jack finishes plugging the makeshift entertainment center together. Jazz sets the DVDs down and sticks one in the player. Maddie’s seen every title on the pile, but doesn’t recognize them from anywhere in the house. All horror films, many classic. Monster movies. Slasher flicks. It’s so disingenuous from where her mind had been that she’s left frozen.

“They’re from Sam,” Jazz explains. “For when somebody runs out of juice.” She spares Danny an annoyed glare and hits play.

Oh. Oh. Maddie looks down at the miserable little ghost in the pool, her shadow cast long over his morose, guilty expression. He’s so pale. The colors from the TV flicker against the vinyl and ice and ectoplasm in surreal flashes. Some loud sound blares from the old speakers with more static than usual and Maddie jolts again. All her senses on high alert, an undercurrent of unnatural fear flooding her cerebellum. An artificially induced state of terror. The buzzing she’s been ignoring with all the ease of overexposure is Danny’s aura, set to 18 hz.

There hasn’t been a ghost attack in nearly a week. All the local specters retreating to the other side of the portal as the heat wave rages on theirs. Danny hasn’t been able to emphathically power himself in a week. Maybe longer.

Ghosts feed on fear.

He’s been overwhelmed with the heatwave, unable to patrol his territory, probably not physically fed in a while, and emotionally weakened. Of course he’s destabilizing.

Maddie lets out a breath of relief. This is something easily remedied, at least. She leans in and kisses Danny’s forehead. In apology. In absolution. Feels guilty for her distrust of him with such an irrational idea. Feels the rekindled instinctual hyperawareness of a ghost near to her vulnerable human throat. Ignores it. Helps Jack finish moving the chairs closer to the pool. Sets her icecream back on her lap. Settles in and lets herself overthink the timing of the next jumpscare. Watches her little ghost relax slowly as he draws strength from their shared, controlled fear. Wonders if he has a vomeronasal organ, with the way his mouth is a little open. If it helps with emphathic filtering, or if it’s psychosomatic. Wonders if he feels better. Fishes his hand out of the ice and holds it tight until he squeezes her back.

It’s been a while since they’ve had a family movie night.

#dannymay2020 #danny phantom #heat #fenton family fun times #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #danny fenton #heat and horror #fanfiction

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blazerina · 4 years

Text

Sick Day (Ethan x MC)

Sick Day // Ethan x MC // Open Heart

Word Count: 1301

A/N: A little drabble featuring the prompt from this amazing gif prompt list that @parkerattano put together. You can find this awesome post here . This is based on prompt #1 – “You’re beautiful.” Hope you enjoy!! xoxo

Tag List: @parkerattano @queencarb @custaroonie @mkamra2355 @humanpokemon @ramseysno1rookie @unknowntimelady @myusualnerdyself @schnitzelbutterfinger @mvalentine @jasminedayz @thanialis @tefigranger @kenzierookie @justanotherrookie @keepcreativechoices @heauxplesslydevoted @ethandaddyramsey @kaavyaethanramsey @sherlockedmcu @edith-eggs1 @noboundariesplease @edgiestwinter @danysims4cc @tempesreture @unusualvisionsblog @chasingrobbie @mapipa @lifeof-liv @3riche-blog @anonymous2094 @annaidziaszczyk @ntoraplayschoices @jessirosebud @mskinkyafro @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @trappedinfandoms @lucy-268

“Dr. Valentine?” Ethan asked, pulling the phone away from his ear as the voice on the other end coughed violently.

“Sorry…” Allie replied, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” She sniffled loudly into the phone.

“Did you, did you need something?”

Ethan could hear the congestion in her voice. Honestly, he thought she had been playing hooky because he saw her just yesterday and she seemed fine. But it was clear in his conversation with her so far, that she was indeed ill.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, as it sounds like you really should be getting some rest. I called to ask if you might have accidentally taken my latest edition of the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine home with you. I’ve been looking all over my office and cannot find it anywhere.”

He closed his eyes and grimaced, waiting for her response. He hoped she couldn’t tell it was a lie. He could get any information he needed from that journal online. The only reason he made up that flimsy excuse was to see if she really was sick, or if she was actually in such desperate need of a day off, that she was lying.

“Uh, hold on for one moment.” Allie sneezed in the background as Ethan listened to papers rustling and more coughing.

“I don’t think so, Dr. Ramsey. But if you need me to look for an article, I’m happy to do that from home. I really am fine I just…” She sneezed again.

“That won’t be necessary. Thanks anyway for looking for it and I hope to uh, see you back at work soon.”

Ethan hung up quickly and sat down at his desk with a heavy sigh. Chewing on his bottom lip, he got lost in deep thought.

You know the reason why you called her.

You missed seeing her at work today. You know she’d never intentionally miss a shift.

She has a major fear of missing out and wants to be all involved in everyone’s business here at the hospital.

You miss her.

Because just knowing where she is and what she’s doing day in and day out, makes you feel better.

His hand tightened into a fist as he thought through the fact that he really did miss her. He’d only been away from her for a few hours, but it felt like so much more than that. In that moment, he knew what he needed to do.

Ethan checked his watch before knocking on the door. He had attempted to look more casual, but somehow felt a stiff as if he was wearing a tux for a formal night out. Brown paper bag in hand, he waited for a quite a while before he could hear shuffling behind the door.

“Dr. Ramsey, I can see through the peephole that it’s you, but I don’t want to get you sick. I’m sorry but I don’t have that journal here with me…” Allie tried to explain.

“Allie, open the door.” He instructed.

“I don’t want to give you what I have. You need to be able to go to wor—”

“Open. The door.”

She did as he asked but only opened it a slightly. It was cracked just enough for them to make eye contact.

Ethan wasn’t prepared for his instincts to take over the way they did. He had no idea the desire that would swell up inside of him to provide for her and make sure she was okay. He wanted to make her comfortable with a blanket and pillow on the couch; bring her 7Up and put on her favorite movie; check on her every few hours and make sure her temp stayed down with alternating doses of Tylenol and Ibuprofen.

He didn’t care that she was sick. Her red-rimmed eyes were glistening, only intensifying their hazel color. The tip of her nose was dry and a light shade of pink. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked very pale.

“I don’t care about the damn journal, Allie. Are you all right?”

He was genuinely concerned and hoped that she knew it.

“I mean, I’ve been better, but I’ll be okay. You didn’t have to come…” She paused to cough, “…all the way out here to check on me.”

“When I heard your voice on the phone, I knew it was bad.” He admitted.

Allie nodded, feeling awkward.

“Are you alone?” Ethan asked, standing on his tiptoes to look over her head and into the apartment behind her.

He couldn’t see anyone else in the background. The TV volume was the only noise.

“Ethan.” Allie smiled, slowly, then covered her mouth afraid a cough was coming out.

“Look, I know this is weird and we haven’t talked much about how we can or can’t make things work between us now that you’re on the team, but…I was…I am…worried about you. I needed to see with my own eyes that you’re okay.”

Without saying a word, Allie opened the door and allowed Ethan to come in.

The area where she had holed up for the day was nothing short of a disaster. Crumpled tissues, dirty dishes, blankets and several pillows were everywhere, amidst journals and papers and medical notes that were also scattered all around the couch.

“Please don’t judge. I feel like crap, okay?”

“No judgement. Truly. It’s just very…unexpected.” Ethan said as he surveyed the room and made his way to the kitchen.

“What’s that?” Allie asked, following him while motioning to the bag.

“Your dinner. I brought you some chicken soup.”

“Wow.” She responded, not able to contain her surprise.

“Where from?”

“Uhhh, Ramsey’s Kitchen?” Ethan raised his eyebrows as he took the lid off the tupperwear dish he brought.

“I know you’re not talking about Gordon…but, Ethan…you, you made this for me??” She questioned as her eyes began watering.

“Settle in on the couch. I’ll bring it to you.” He ordered, proud of himself for being able to offer something of substance to her in her time of need.

Ethan fumbled his way around this unfamiliar, much smaller kitchen and managed to find a bowl and a spoon. By the time he got back to the couch to serve Allie her home-made soup, she was passed out asleep.

He put the soup on the coffee table in front of the couch, found a blanket on the floor and tucked her in, making sure she was covered. He sat down beside her on the edge of the sofa and studied her for a moment.

She must have felt his eyes on her for she woke up quickly, startled.

“Ethan!” She immediately covered her face, whining.

“Ugh. I cannot believe you’re seeing me like this. This apartment is a mess, I sound terrible, and I look awful.”

“Lay back down.” Ethan guided her, putting a fluffier pillow behind her head.

“You’re beautiful.” He reminded her, locking his gaze to hers.

Leaning in, he gently kissed her forehead and Allie closed her eyes relishing the feel of his lips on her skin.

“You’re beautiful and you definitely have a fever. I’ll get you some meds and then I’m out of here. You need to rest. I need you back to work ASAP. The hospital feels…” he paused, to think of the perfect word, “…lonely…without you.”

A few minutes later, he scrounged up some over the counter drugs that would help alleviate her symptoms and let himself out of her apartment.

He knew she didn’t feel any better, but he sure did. Getting to see her, talk to her and take care of her for a brief moment, helped him to remember what she meant to him. He was reminded once again that it truly would be worth it to fight for her.

#blazerina babbles #ethan x mc #mc x ethan #dr ramsey #dr ethan ramsey #some fluff #since i always want to write angst #did it work? you tell me

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