#i had to run to the bathroom to puke because I got nauseous from moving around so much which doesnt usually happen but??? im not used to

[yandereshingeki]

work was. interesting today

[megxplryxb]

Just thinking about Reader finding out she’s having Steve’s baby and how Steve would be during her pregnancy.

You’ve only been married to Steve for a blissful couple of weeks when you realise you’re expecting a little baby Harrington.

One morning after Steve leaves for work, you rush to the bathroom feeling extremely nauseous and after realising your period is more than a little late, you run to the store to buy a couple of pregnancy tests to put your mind at ease.

It’s impossible you think, you’re completely overreacting. It’s just stress after the wedding and nothing more. You and Steve had always been so careful…well, except for one night. One drunken passionate night on your honeymoon when you just couldn’t wait for him to be inside of you any longer. You hadn’t used a condom and had completely forgotten to get the morning after pill with all your holiday activities keeping you both busy. Fuck, you were so stupid!

Your heart beats out of your chest as you wait for the result of the first test, sitting on the bathroom countertop, nervously biting on your nails as you stare at the watch on your wrist. You prayed it would come back negative, that you’d never even have to tell Steve about your silly worry and things could just go back to normal.

When it’s finally time, you psych yourself up to look at the test., taking a few deeps breaths in and out. A cold sweat pouring from you as your hands begin to shake, picking up the test.

+ Positive. Fuck.

You fall to the floor in tears, trying to catch your breath before beginning to process the result. You’re pregnant and the timing couldn’t be worse.

You and Steve were newlyweds, you’d just moved in to a new apartment of your very own and had so many plans for the future that didn’t include children. Of course you both wanted kids, Steve wanted six for christ sake but not now, not yet. It was too soon.

You’d taken 2 more tests throughout the day, both of which came back positive, confirming that you were indeed expecting. You sat in silence most of the afternoon wondering how you were going to tell Steve. Was he going to be angry at you? Would he still love you? You were terrified to find out because you loved him so much.

By that evening, you were starting to imagine what life would be like with a little baby in it. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would they look like Steve? Would they have his eyes? Would be good parents? Would it be so bad if you kind of wanted this baby?

It was shortly after 8pm when you hear the familiar sound of your Husband’s keys turning in the front door of your apartment. “Hi honey, it’s me. How was your day? It’s freezing outside!” He shivers, removing his coat before walking towards the kitchen to see you sitting at the table.

“Honey, are you ok? What’s the matter?” He questions, bending down to cup your cheeks, wiping the tears from your eyes. He’s concerned now, panic visible on his face as you try to gain your composure.

“Stevie, I have to tell you something but I’m so afraid you’re going to be mad and I just need you to know that I’m sorry and that I didn’t plan on this happening right now.” You cry hysterically as he wraps his arms tightly around you, he can feel your body shaking, the tears soaking his t-shirt. He’s completely terrified. Were you sick? Did you not love him anymore? Did you regret marrying him?Was there someone else? Were you going to leave him?

“Honey, please just tell me what’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.” He trembles as you take a deep breath before blurting out. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re…. You’re what?” He asks, eyes widened in shock as he tried to process your statement.

“I’m preg- we’re pregnant.” You mumble again as he stands back up, a hand over his mouth as he remains silent. You can’t read his expression.

“When you left for work this morning, I started to feel really sick, I puked a couple of times and I thought maybe it was that take out we got last night, you know? But then it dawned on me that my period was late, like really late and I didn’t think it was possible at first, I mean we’ve always been so careful to use condoms and I was going to go on birth control one I got my next period but then I remembered that night on our honeymoon when we didn’t use one and we forgot to go to the pharmacy the next day, so I went to the store today and got a bunch of tests and…they all came back positive.” You say, taking the tests from your bag and placing them on the table for Steve to see for himself. “I’m so sorry Stevie, I honestly didn’t mean for this to happen. I know we had so many plans for the future and this is happening so much sooner than we wanted it to but…”

You were so busy rambling, afraid of his response that you didn’t even notice the smile on Steve’s face, the tears in his eyes as he finally picked up one of the pregnancy tests to inspect it further.

“We’re really having a baby? I’m going to be a Dad?” He asks, staring at you, his wife, with utter adoration as he walks closer towards you.

“Yeah Stevie, we’re really going to have a baby.” You cry as he places a loving kiss to your lips, once again wrapping himself around you, rubbing your stomach gently. “I love you Mrs Harrington, we’re going to be the best parents.”

When you finally tell people, the kids all fight over who gets to be the baby’s godparents but you and Steve have already chosen Robin and Eddie, telling the others they’ll be awesome aunts and uncles either way.

Even Steve’s parents are excited, spending more time in Hawkins to help you both get ready for the baby and it makes you happy to see them finally making an effort for their son.

Steve is the best Husband and birthing partner, attending all the classes and appointments with you, reading all the baby books to know as much as possible before the baby arrives. Making sure you take your vitamins etc.

He tears up upon seeing your baby for the first time at the Ultrasound appointment. Showing EVERYBODY the pictures when you get home from the hospital.

Steve quickly got to work on building the nursery, getting annoyed when you insist on helping him paint the room. “Baby, I don’t want you straining yourself.” “I’m pregnant, not dying Steve.” You’d joke. “Just let me feel useful for a while, please?” You begged and he sighed, knowing he could never say no to you. “Alright, fifteen minutes, then I’m running you a bath.” He said kissing your forehead before handing you a paintbrush.

You decided not to find out the baby’s gender, wanting to keep the surprise for when you gave birth but Steve was convinced it was a girl, often referring to the baby as she/her when talking. “There’s my two girls.”

You and Steve’s weekends are spent buying stuff for the baby, high chairs, strollers, diapers etc. You’re both working extra hours to save as much money as possible, but as the pregnancy progresses, Steve takes on more work so you can rest up at home.

As your tummy grows, Steve can see you’re getting a little self conscious in your clothes. Outfits that fit in the past are no longer comfortable and it makes you sad.

He gives Nancy a couple of hundred dollars to take you for lunch and to shop for maternity clothes, making sure she gets you whatever you want.

He constantly reminds you how beautiful you are, showing you he’s not afraid to have sex with his pregnant wife. He just wants to make you feel good.

Every morning he wakes up, he kisses your lips and then your tummy. “Good morning baby, and my other baby.” He does the same when he gets home from work and every night before bed.

The first time the baby kicks, you’re both lying on the couch watching Jaws, Steve talking over the movie as usual. He drops the bowl of popcorn when he feels you jolt beside him. “Honey what’s wrong? Are you ok? Is it the baby?” He panics, jumping from his seat but you’re quick to pull him back down and place his large hand on your stomach. “The baby, it’s kicking. Woah!” You say, starting to laugh at the feeling of your tiny human growing inside you. “I.. I feel her! Oh my god, she’s kicking hard huh?” He smiles, holding your other hand in his. “I think they like your voice baby.” You say as Steve looks at you in surprise. “You think?” “Uh, huh. They kicked when you started speaking, didn’t you peanut?” You giggle rubbing your belly.

Steve comes home from work the next night with a box of children’s books and he’s so excited getting in to bed to read the bedtime story to your swollen bump. “Stevie, what are you doing?” You giggle as he begins to read.

“Well, you said the baby likes my voice and I want her to recognise that I’m her Dad when you give birth, so Phil from work let me borrow a couple of his kids books so I can read to her. Plus I want her to be smart, not like her old man.” “Steve, you’re not an old man and you are smart.” You smile, putting a gentle hand through his hair, getting cosy in bed as he opens the first book to read to your tummy.

You were almost a week overdue when you decided you finally had enough of being pregnant. You’d gone on multiple walks, ate all the spicy food you could possibly eat and tried every position possible while having sex with Steve. Nothing was working, this baby was as stubborn as you were.

When your water finally breaks, Steve is super calm and you can’t believe he’s handling things so well. He’s had your hospital bag at the front door for several weeks now, car full of gas and newly serviced. He was getting you to the hospital without any issues. “We’re almost there baby.” He says holding your hand as you try to breathe through the pain. “Stevie, I’m scared.” You cry as he chuckles, trying to make you feel better. “Sweetheart, you fought monsters from another dimension for four years without showing any fear but you’re scared of delivering our little girl? This is gonna be a piece of cake to you baby and I’m right here, all the way.” He assured you, kissing your knuckles.

Eddie and Robin wait in the waiting room, Steve having called them once he got you safely to the hospital, knowing you’d want them there to look after Steve if he needed anything. Eddie was beyond excited while Robin paced the halls in a nervous wreck.

Steve was great, he was rubbing your back and shoulders, getting you ice chips, keeping your facecloth cold to press to your forehead and then a few hours later, it was finally tome to push.

This was hell, you were in so much pain, your body was screaming for a break but you knew you couldn’t rest until the baby was out. You wanted to choke Steve for getting you pregnant, telling him he was never allowed to touch you again, that you were only having one baby and that was it.

“Honey, you’re doing so good. Just a couple of more pushes sweetheart, she’s almost here!” Steve whispers in your ear, refusing to leave your side.

That’s easy for you to say! You’re not pushing a football out of your vagina Steve Harrington!” You yell as he tried to hold back a laugh. “Don’t you dare laugh right now!” You warn, squeezing his hand as you feel another contraction.

“I can see the head!” The Doctor cries as you close your eyes, wanting this to be over.

“Come on honey, you’ve got this. It’s time to meet our daughter.” Steve encourages, as you find the strength to push again, feeling the pressure on the bottom half of your body. Suddenly the head is out, then the shoulders and after a few more pushes, you hear the little cries of your newborn baby, before the Doctor hands the tiny bundle to you.

“You did so good honey, you are amazing.” Steve kisses your lips as you begin to cry from happiness, relief and exhaustion.

“Congratulations to the both of you. You have a beautiful healthy baby boy.” The Doctor says as you smile at Steve, cuddling your son.

“She’s a boy? We have a boy?” He cries, holding his little family in his arms as he sits on the edge of you bed, overwhelmed by how happy he is in this very moment.

“I told you we were having a boy. Are you upset?” You frown as he shakes his head. “No! Of course not, look at him, how could anyone be upset when he’s so perfect?” Steve smiles as you move a little to hand him his son. “Take him, I think he wants to say hi to the guy that reads to him every night.” You tease, carefully slotting him into Steve’s arms as he looks down at his son in complete and utter awe. His heart completely melts when his son grabs his pinky finger, holding it tightly as you smile at your two boys.

“Hey little man, welcome to the world, I’m your Dad, and that beautiful woman over there? She’s your awesome Mom. We’re your parents and we already love you so much.” Steve mumbles as tears fill his eyes.

“You know we’re going to have to think of some new names now right?” You joke as Steve nods his head, wiping away his tears. “Oh yeah, somehow I don’t think he’s gonna like the name Phoebe.”

[theautisticbarbie]

A Bird of Praise

Act II

Chapter V: Foreign Memories

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Word count: 7,599 (another long one I know)

Chapter Summary: Tara’s clumsy little mishap sets off a neurological cascade, the likes of which is unprecedented to her. The identity of the Mullet Man is revealed, changing Tara’s perspective of her childhood bully. When she finds out Dustin stole library books, she gets more than what she bargained for when she tries to replace them to keep him out of trouble. Tara gets a glimpse into Billy’s home life.

Warnings: abuse (Neil being a dick to Billy), mentions of suicide (Tara discussing the plot of Swan Lake to Max), smut (p in v, car sex, fingering), threats of murder-suicide (Billy seriously needs help lmao), mentions of past bullying, mentions of medical trauma and phobia of hospitals

Tara huffed in frustration when she suddenly felt overwhelmingly nauseous. She barely made it to the bathroom before she started puking her brains out.

Her head was in the toilet for what had to be a solid 10 minutes just straight vomiting. She didn’t bother closing the stall door, so a gaggle of middle school girls were staring at her as she continued. When she finally got a reprieve from her nausea, she heard a familiar voice.

“Tara? What are you doing here?” Max asked, having pushed past the others.

Once she realised Max saw everything, she tried to quickly compose herself.

“So,” she started gently while flushing the toilet, “the powers that be have delegated me to get you out of your brother’s hair, so I propose that we go to the arcade, maybe grab some junk food… I DO have a quick errand to run first, but do you think you can wait in the car while I do that if I stop by Burger King on the way?”

Max looked at her before sighing. Something clearly had her upset. “Fine,” she said walking ahead of her.

Tara definitely wasn’t expecting that so it took her by surprise.

“Come on!” Max urged.

Once they got in the car, Swan Lake was quietly over the radio.

“What’s up with the Beethoven?” Max finally asked?

“It’s not Beethoven. It’s Tchaikovsky. Swan Lake. You know that story?”

“No?”

“It’s about a princess named Odette who gets turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer named Rothbart. The spell can only be broken by a declaration of true love. One day, she meets a prince named Siegfried—“

“Let me guess. He falls madly in love with her, gives her true loves kiss or whatever and he kills Rothbart, vanquishing the big bad and the two get married and live happily ever after.”

“Actually, Rothbart enchants his daughter, Odile, to look like Odette, thereby tricking Siegfried into vowing to love her. Odette is so heartbroken by his betrayal that she drowns herself, and Siegfried is so devastated by the prospect of living without her that he follows.”

“Ooooookay…”

Max paused, looking for the right words.

“But that’s stupid! Why would she kill herself? Because some guy went off with another girl? That’s stupid! Why not just find another prince?”

“Maybe it hurt her so deeply that she thought he loved him and they shared such a deep connection that he couldn’t even tell her apart from what, for all intents and purposes, was a cheap parlour trick.”

“Then screw him! Guys like that aren’t worth anything!”

“That’s easy to say from an outside perspective, but imagine being treated like an absolute treasure for about a week or so and then suddenly it’s gone.”

“Well, then that just means he never actually treasured you to begin with. He just wanted to get in your pants.”

Tara let out a sigh, but felt vindicated in what Max was saying. “I guess in that case Odette should have just moved on.”

Tara pulled up to the police station, leaving Max in the car with her food.

“I’ll just be a few minutes and then we can go absolutely nuts at the arcade.”

Tara anxiously waited for the secretary to call her back. She looked over and noticed that Hopper was not in his office at the moment. He must have been on duty. Still, she wondered how the case would be handled in his absence. This might be a time when she would have flashbacks, but none came. Since the assault, she’s felt strangely cut off from that side of herself.

“Tara?”

She looked up to see a secretary with a stack of papers.

“In the office, please.”

Tara followed inside.

“Have a seat.”

Tara sat and the stack of papers was placed in front of her.

“Read that through, make sure it’s accurate and sign for me, please.”

There it was. The police report naming Jason Carver as her assailant.

All Tara had to do was sign off on it and it will be sent to the DA to decide to prosecute.

She took a deep breath, signed the paper work and set down the pen. “Is that it? Is he going to jail now?”

“That’s for the DA, judge and jury to decide. In the mean time, you’ve done your part. Best thing to do is take your mind off it until we need you again for witness testimony.”

“When will he be arrested?”

“Again, that’s for the DA to decide.”

Tara came out to the car and slammed the door behind her before speeding out of the parking lot and subsequently slowing to a normal speed.

“What’s your problem?” Max asked.

“Me? Nothing! I’m completely fine!” Tara insisted.

When they got back to Tara’s place, the sun had just gone over. Billy’s car was nowhere to be found. He must have been out. “We’ll wait here until Neil and Susan get home to let you in.” because even though Billy had a key to her place, there was no way in hell she was getting one to his.

When they got in, they saw that Daniel was hosting Hellfire club at their place. That was odd. She knew that their dance rehearsals and pre-production of Nutcracker often displaced Hellfire club since it was held in the drama room, but Daniel said that Gareth always hosted during those times.

“Knock knock,” Tara poked her head into the dining room. “What’s going on?”

“We had to host here because Gareth’s mom has company,” Daniel quickly explained. “Now, go away! We’re in the middle of a boss fight!”

“Yeesh! All right! Max, I guess you and I can find something to do elsewhere in the house. I have movies in the den. Or we can just watch TV. Want something to drink? I’ve got soda, kool-aid, tea, you name it.”

The two settled on hot chocolates. Once they got into the den, the phone rang.

“Newman residence!” Tara answered.

“Hey, girl! It’s Alanna. I just wanted to see if I could get a ride from you to the theatre on Saturday.”

Right. Tara had forgotten. The team’s show of “Giselle” was selected for final selections for the Midwestern Dance Grant. Final competitors would be showcasing their performances at the Rialto Theatre in Chicago. It was like a 3 hour drive and because it was on a Saturday, there wouldn’t be any school busses.

“Yeah! I’ll come pick you up at say 8?”

“Sounds good! Thanks chica!”

Click.

“Who was that?” Max asked curiously.

“Oh that was just my friend Alanna asking for a ride. We’re doing our performance of Giselle again this weekend.”

“What’s that one about?” she asked, picking the marshmallows off of the whipped cream to snack on them first.

Tara gauged Max’s face to see that it was genuine curiosity. “Well, it’s about a peasant girl in the Middle Ages named Giselle. She lives in the Rhineland with her mother and a hunter named Hilarion who she thinks of like a brother. They’re very protective of her because of her weak heart.”

“So she’s basically you,” Max teased.

“Max,” Tara whined, playfully tapping her arm, eliciting laughter from them both.

“Anyway, a prince named Albrecht visits Giselle’s village in disguise as a peasant named Loys. Albrecht flirts with Giselle and because of her sheltered life, she takes his advances seriously and they spend the day together. What she doesn’t know is that Albrecht is already engaged to a princess named Bathilde.”

“What? No way!”

“Yes way, Max. Two-timing is not a new thing. Anyway, when Giselle finds out, she goes insane and dies of a broken heart.”

“Let me guess. This Prince Albert guy feels so guilty about essentially killing her that he tries to put her spirit to rest or something?”

“You’re getting good at this. Prince ALBRECHT does indeed visit her grave. But after Giselle dies, he ends up with a bigger problem. The Willis.”

“The Willis?” Max asked, trying to see if she if she heard that correctly.

“They’re the vengeful spirits of women who are betrayed by their lovers. In the night, their spirits rise from the grave, led by Queen Myrtha, and they find men who have fatally wronged women and force them to dance to death. And now they’ve decided to target Albrecht for his actions.”

“Shut up!” Max exclaimed in shock, accidentally knocking over and spilling her drink. “Shit!”

“It’s okay! I’ve got it!”

“I’m so sorry!” Max said, nervously, as though she was fearful of retribution.

“It’s okay! Accidents happen! We’ll just clean it up and get you another one! No biggie!”

Tara went upstairs and to grab the cleaning supplies from the utility closet before hearing a knock on the doorframe.

“Dm decided to take a snack break.” Daniel said. “You maybe wanna tell me why you were gone for hours and come back with your boyfriend’s 13 year old sister?”

“I was just getting her out of his hair,” she said, still trying to figure out how to gently tell everyone that they were no longer a couple.

“Right.”

“Can I tell you something kind of weird and off topic?” Tara asked.

“Fine. Shoot.”

“Ever since Tina’s Halloween party, I feel cut off.”

Tara took a breath. “Let me explain. I went to Tina’s part, came back, and had one nightmare about the New Belgium Lab, and then there was this grandfather clock, I woke up and I was cut off from everything. I can’t use my powers, no flashbacks and I haven’t been able to search the mirror realm.”

“Why would you be searching the mirror realm?” Daniel asked after taking a beat.

Pause.

“I was looking for Barb…” Tara said after careful deliberation. “I figured if Will was found, Barb still can be, too!”

“Tara, maybe you should let the police deal with this one.”

“They already decided she ran away, but you and I both know that’s not true! She HAS to be in the mirror realm! That’s where I last saw her!”

“Tara, you’re starting to ask questions that I know for a fact you won’t want the answer to!”

“How do you know that? You know where she is now?”

“Yes!”

“Oh yeah? Where is she?”

“SHE’S DEAD! I found her and she died in my arms after we found the mirror realm for the first time!”

Daniel took a breath and sobbed. “At first I didn’t think it was real. I convinced myself it was some kind of mirage… but it’s real and she’s gone… okay? She’s gone. She’s not coming back.”

There was a very long silence that hung in the air. “Well, don’t just look at me like that! Say something!” Daniel pleaded.

Tara was looking with a blank expression.

“Tara?”

“Breathe. Sunflower. Three to the right. Four to the left. Rainbow. 450.”

“Tara what the hell are you saying?”

“Breathe. Sunflower. Three to the right. Four to the left. Rainbow. 450.”

“Tara!”

“Breathe—“

“TARA!”

Suddenly, Tara jolted out of her reverie, wiping blood from her upper lip.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” Tara asked, dazed and confused.

“You just kind of… never mind…”

“Kind of what?”

“It’s fine.” Daniel said going back downstairs.

“Daniel, wait!” Tara hastily washed her face in the bathroom and went down in pursuit of her brother.

Once she got down, she quite literally bumped face first into mullet man.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Tara said.

“Nah, no worries!” he laughed it off.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna feel really rude if I just call you Mullet Man, so would you mind telling me your name?”

“Wow. You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Tara shot a look on confusion. Truthfully, yes, he looked vaguely familiar, but because she couldn’t put her finger on it, she just presumed he had one of those faces.

“I thought you were just drunk at Tina’s party but no, you really forgot about me, huh?”

“Have we met before?” she asked.

“Tara, it’s me! Eddie!”

Just then, it clicked. “Eddie? Eddie Munson? Wait! You have hair now!”

“I do have hair now! And tats!” he said gesturing to the ink on his body.

“Wow! They look great!” Tara said, admiring the art work.

“You look great, too,” Eddie said off to the side, only to be drowned out by the roar of what was unmistakably Billy’s Camaro.

“I don’t think that was loud enough,” he said sarcastically.

Tara offered a weak chuckle in response when they were both interrupted by her brother poking his head in.

“Hey Tara. Your dumbass boyfriend is here.”

“Oh, well, I guess I better see to that.”

Tara went to see Billy in the living room standing by the open door. “I’ll go get Max. You can leave the spare key on the—“

Billy slammed her against the wall, hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing and leaned in so they were nose to nose.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” he said, his voice only barely above a whisper, “it’s not over until I say it’s over. Nobody leaves me. You leave me, it’s gonna be in a body bag.”

“Billy! I can’t breathe!” Tara pleaded, voice strangled. “Let me go!”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you aren’t gonna leave me.”

“Billy… please… have mercy…”

“Say it.”

“I’m not gonna leave you…”

“Louder.”

“I’m not gonna leave you…”

“I still can’t hear you. You’re gonna have to speak up, doll face.” he mocked, squeezing harder on her neck.

“I’ll stay! I’m not gonna leave you!” Tara forced out, desperate for any form of relief.

That seemed to satisfy him and he let her throat go.

Tara took a deep gasp, coughing for air as she collapsed to the ground.

“Get your shit, Max. We’re leaving,” he called.

Tears poured out of Tara’s eyes as she pathetically laid on the floor, still trying to catch her breath.

Billy kneeled to her side, grabbing her chin. “By the time I get that little shit back home, you better be in the car.”

“Wait…” Tara started, still catching her breath. “Where are we even going?”

“You’ll find out, when we get there.”

“Billy, we have school tomorrow!”

“And the more you argue with me, the further your bedtime is going to be.”

Billy banged his fist on the doorway. “Sometime today, shit-for-brains!”

“I’m coming!” Max said, walking straight past Tara to Billy.

“Don’t even think about making me wait.”Billy took Max by the arm roughly and slammed the door behind them.

Tara took a breath and walked over to the coat closet. She hated it when Billy did that. Was it not bad enough that he habitually punched holes into her wall? She turned to Eddie, trying to gauge if he overheard any of Billy’s violence. “I have to go.”

“Are you in a hurry or do you have a second?” asked Eddie.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I uhhhh,” Eddie nervously rubbed the back of his head. “I wanted to apologise for what a shithead I used to be.”

Tara genuinely wasn’t expecting that. She had always been told that after a certain amount of time has passed, it’s supposed to be forgotten about and you’re supposed to move on.

“I grew up in an emotionally unstable environment and I ended up internalising my trauma and unknowingly transferred it onto my peers in the form of unchecked rage and aggression. It also took my uncle a while to understand that getting me away from my dad wasn’t enough. I still harboured those negative emotions, and then I had feelings for you and had absolutely no idea what to do or how to express them in a way that was healthy. I saw how my dad treated my mom in my formative years and ended up thinking that was normal.”

“Feelings?” Tara asked. “What kind of feelings?”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. “Uh… well… you know…”

“YOU’D BETTER BE READY, BITCH!”

“Oh! I gotta go! I have a performance on Saturday at the Rialto Theatre at 4, but I guess we can talk tomorrow if we run into each-other at school?”

“The Rialto Theatre? As in the one in Chicago?”

“Yup! That’s the one! Our ballet performance might get the school a decent size grant.”

“COME ON!”

“I have to go! We’ll talk tomorrow!”

Tara literally ran out of the door.

As she sped to the Camaro, Billy practically shoved her in and slammed the door before getting in the driver’s side and speeding off.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“Like I said, you’ll find out when we get there.”

Tara looked out the window, unsure if she was even going to get back home. She let out a heavy sigh, trying to gauge the direction.

When the car came to a screeching halt, it was at Lover’s Lake. Tara suddenly remembered his previous threats.

“Billy,” Tara started, nervously. “You don’t have to hurt me. We can talk this out.”

“We already did that, sweetheart. Remember?”

“And I said I wasn’t gonna leave you, right?”

“Exactly. So get in the back.”

Tara had only had sex with Billy in the back of his car a few times and every single one made her feel very claustrophobic and uncomfortable. Besides that…

“Didn’t you leave school with another girl today already?”

“I did, and the bitch gave me blue balls. Which, as my girlfriend, is your job to fix. So get your ass in the back.”

Tara crossed her arms indignantly. “I do not exist to serve as your personal—“

“I’m not gonna say it again.”

Tara sighed, getting in the back. Billy followed, laying her down on the back seat before tearing off the bottom half of her clothing. He undid his pants, allowing his cock to spring free. It twitched while he reached for something in his back pocket.

“A condom?” Tara asked in confusion.

“Your mom decided to get in my ass about it. So now you can tell her that I followed her little rule,” he said, opening the packet.

Once he rolled in on, he pulled up her shirt, exposing her breasts.

“I love these fun bags,” he said, groping them roughly. He sucked both nipples hard before giving each one a gentle bite, making Tara moan.

He lined himself up with her entrance. “Who’s my little sex slave?”

“I am,” Tara replied meekly.

“Yes. You are.” Billy penetrated her as hard as he could, gasping. “Fucking Christ that’s tight!” He thrusted hard, making his car rock. “So tight! You’ve been keeping it nice and tight for me! Fuck!” He kept thrusting as the windows and windshield began to fog up.

“Billy,” Tara moaned out, “at least tell me that you love me…” she whined.

Billy leaned down and kissed her. His tongue wrestled with hers for dominance, ultimately winning. He kissed down her neck, fanning her throat with husky moans.

“God… Tara… I’m gonna…” Billy threw his head back and rode out his orgasm, thrusting hard. Once he was spent, he collapsed beside her, catching his breath.

“Was it good for you, too, gorgeous?”

“Billy, do you love me or not?”

He got up, pulled the condom off and tossed it onto the ground.

“That’s disgusting! Throw that away!”

“Not my issue,” Billy said, getting back into the driver’s seat.

Tara got into the passenger’s seat, still keen on pressing the issue. “I asked you a question.”

“A stupid question,” Billy put the car in drive and sped off.

“It’s a perfectly legitimate question and it has a yes or no answer!” Tara said indignantly.

“An obvious answer, so why would I waste my time?”

“Actually, your actions don’t make it seem very obvious.”

Billy slammed his fist onto the steering wheel and the car began accelerating towards a speed that was definitely not safe at all, not that he really drove at a safe and prudent speed to begin with. “Yes! Okay! I love you! Are you happy, you psycho bitch? You wore me down! Congratulations!”

“Why are you screaming at me?”

“BECAUSE YOU MAKE ME FUCKING CRAZY!”

“Because I wanted to know whether you actually love me or not?”

“Because you always expect me to grovel for you!”

“How is that grovelling?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you fucking bitch!”

The entire outside of the car was a blur.

“Slow down! You’re gonna kill us both!”

“Maybe I should, huh? Maybe that’s the only way I’ll finally have some peace away from your constant bullshit!”

“BILLY! PLEASE STOP! I DON’T WANNA DIE!”

“That’s too bad, bitch!”

“PLEASE BILLY! I LOVE YOU! I’LL STAY! I WON’T EVER EVEN THINK ABOUT LEAVING YOU!”

The car came to a screeching halt in front of their respective houses. Billy erupted in laughter, as if this was a sick joke to him.

“You should have seen the look on your fucking face!”

Billy mocked her terrified expression before doubling over in laughter, slapping his hand on the steering wheel while catching his breath.

“Oh my god, that was priceless,” he said, collecting himself. “You really thought I was gonna crash my baby and kill myself. As if the world would go on without this handsome mug.”

Tara looked like she was ready to strangle Billy.

“Look,” he offered, “I would never do anything to hurt you. You’re my girl. I love you, okay?” he asked, stroking her face.

The fact that Billy went from a raging psychopath to gentle and sweet in the blink of an eye terrified Tara, so she decided to placate him to lessen the blows.

“Okay, I love you, too,” Tara replied.

Billy took the thumb that was stroking her face and inserted it into her mouth.

Tara sucked obediently, eliciting a smirk from Billy, who took his thumb out of her mouth, slid it into her panties, and rubbed gentle circles on her clit.

“I miss feeling you cum, babe.”

He continued his ministrations while leaning over and placing open mouth kisses on her face. Tara let his tongue in while his hand continued.

“You gonna be a good girl now?”

“Mhm,” Tara hummed between kisses.

Tara began palming the forming bulge in his jeans. She was so lost in the passion that neither of them saw the front door to Billy’s house open.

“Billy, get your ass in the house!”

Billy instantly popped off of Tara and for a split second, she could see what looked like genuine fear in his eyes. But just as quickly as she saw it, it was gone.

The two looked over to see Neil standing in the doorway, and he did not look pleased at all.

“Looks like we’ll have to continue this some other time, sweet cheeks,” Billy said, licking the juices off of his thumb.

“I said get your ass in this house!”

“I heard you, you prick!”

Billy got out of the car, slamming the door behind him before letting Tara out of the passenger’s seat, locking the doors and rushing into his house.

Neil shot Tara what was unmistakably a contemptuous look before slamming the door.

She sighed, walking back to her own door before entering the house to see that the DnD game was still going strong.

“Dude!” Jeff called. “We totally used the roar from your boyfriend’s car to start off the final boss fight!”

“Well,” Tara said, weakly letting out an amused chuckle. “Glad we could provide good ambience.”

Tara sighed. “I’m gonna go to bed. I have to be up early. Enjoy your game!”

Tara went upstairs to get ready for bed. While changing into her nightgown, Tara heard arguing from across the street. Truthfully, she had always heard this, but always assumed that Billy was the aggressor.

Then again, she never really got to know his parents. She’s had the occasional passing conversation with Susan, who seemed nice enough, but whenever she tried to greet or say hello to Neil, he was always in a bad mood.

Once she was ready, she crawled into bed before opening her music box and drifting off.

Once the campaign finished for the night and Hellfire Club tidied up, Eddie cracked his knuckles. “Welp, I gotta take a piss and drive these other little shits home,” he said referring to Jeff and Gareth.

“Bathroom’s upstairs.” Daniel said.

“Thanks, man.”

After relieving himself, Eddie heard the music box coming from Tara’s room and decided to peek his head in.

He saw Tara sleeping peacefully beside a nightlight with the music box on the nightstand.

He looked around her room to see stuffed animals, fairy tale books, her television, Betamax player and VCR, and of course her walls were painted pink with flowers and unicorns. That’s when he noticed the holes in the wall. He decided to inspect them closely and realised that they were punched in. The same way the walls in his father’s house looked. He kept his steps feather light as he overheard the fighting across the street that was STILL going strong.

The next morning, when Tara went down for breakfast, she saw a note on the coffee table.

It had Eddie’s number and read:

Here if you ever need to talk

-Eddie

Tara felt a persistent sense of uneasiness while she ate, but couldn’t pinpoint where exactly it was coming from.

Suddenly Billy walked through the door leaving Tara to quickly scarf down her breakfast as he walked into the kitchen.

“Seriously? You’re still eating?” he asked.

“Nope! I’m done!” Tara said, quickly standing up.

“So fucking disgusting,” he said to himself as Tara followed him.

The ride to school was quiet. Tara decided it was better to not say or do anything that might conceivably rub Billy the wrong way.

It was Max who broke the awkward silence. “So what’s ‘The Nutcracker’ about?”

Tara turned to Max. “Hmm?”

“I saw a poster just outside of the AV room.”

“Oh! That! That’s our team’s Christmas production! It’s about a girl named Clara who—“

The car swerved hard, causing Tara to hit the passenger side window hard. “Ouch!” she cried out.

“Jesus Christ, Billy!” Max yelled indignantly.

“Sorry!” Billy said insincerely. “Almost hit a deer!”

“There are no deer here!” Tara said.

“My mistake,” he smirked.

Once the car pulled up to the school, Max grabbed her skateboard and headed up to the middle school campus.

“Have a good day at school!” Tara called.

When she went to head to first period, Billy grabbed her arm.

“Do me a favour and stop acting like Max is your little buddy now.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re embarrassing us both.”

Billy grabbed her arm, pulling her by the wrist and leading her to class. Every day it was like this. He was marking his territory. It was clear to everyone not to go near Billy Hargrove’s girl unless you had a funeral plot ready to go.

“If I embarrass you so much, then why are you even with me?”

“Because you need me, Dollface.”

“I need you? That’s a hoot because since we started dating, I haven’t been able to eat or sleep, my grades have gone down, I’m in constant pain, and dancing with my partners gives me crippling anxiety because I’m absolutely terrified that you’re gonna bust in at any moment and go bonkers! So, exactly what is it that you’re doing for me?”

“Oh, so I guess I’m a terrible boyfriend, now?”

“I never said that…”

“Well, you’re acting like it. Why don’t you show me a little more gratitude, huh? I drive your fat ass to school and back home, I listen to your dumbass stories and watch these dumbass kids movies with you, and all I ask from you is a little bit of effort. And all you ever do is bitch, complain and cry.”

“You sleep with other girls…” Tara said with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Yeah, I do. I have needs.”

The bell rings.

“You NEED to get to class,” Tara retorted.

First period started off rough. Not just with the argument, but with the fact that once again, Nancy was missing.

“Psst! Summer! Have you seen Nancy?” Tara hissed.

“No,” she answered.

Great. She was gonna miss first period again.

When class ended, Mr. Washington handed her a stack of papers. “What are these?” Tara asked in confusion, examining them.

“Those are Miss Wheeler’s assignments for the past couple of days. I know you won’t mind making sure she gets them.”

“Not at all,” Tara said, gritting her teeth.

Thankfully, once ballet class rolled around, things began to turn around. Ms. McIntyre was back, but the gas leak still had yet to be resolved. Like yesterday, the first half of class was on the blacktop and the second half was in the gymnasium, which they had to share with the basketball boys.

Billy was once again being a jerk to Steve.

“Dirtbag,” Tara mumbled to herself.

The team was rehearsing Giselle for the competition. Things were going okay until the Grand Pas Des Deus, when Billy started giving Spencer a hardcore death glare.

As he hoisted Tara into the air, a basketball came flying into his face.

“Ow! Christ!” he said, grabbing his face, dropping Tara on the floor.

“My bad!” Billy called, not feeling one iota of guilt over what he just did.

“Mr. Hargrove, I’ll thank you to keep your balls away from my dancers!”

“Well, Ms. McIntyre, that’s gonna be a challenge considering one of them is my girlfriend!” he retorted, busting into a fit of laughter.

Tara buried her face in her hands. Billy behaves like this all time as a way of marking his territory but she was the one who embarrassed him?

Once class ended, she was eager to be out of there.

“I’ll see you back here after school for rehearsal!” Ms. McIntyre called.

Oh crap. Rehearsal. There was no way Billy was gonna wait for her for that. Fantastic. Way to paint herself into a corner.

Third period came and it was thankfully uneventful… at least until Martin Tanner decided to spit on Tara’s desk.

“Tanner, did you just spit on my girlfriend’s desk?” Billy asked with an amused chuckle.

Tara, who had been mostly checked out with anxiety of wondering what might have happened to Nancy or Jonathan since he was also nowhere to be found, was brought back to reality upon hearing that.

Sure enough, there was the lob of spit on her desk.

“Gross!” she cried out.

“What is going on here?” Mrs. Kingsford asked.

“He spit on my desk! I’m immunocompromised! You know this! He could have killed me!”

“Mr. Tanner,” Mrs. Kingsford started with an annoyed sigh, “can you please refrain from this sort of behaviour. You know it upsets Miss Newman.”

“Shouldn’t people like that be left to die?” Kenzie asked. “You know, people who have to have their asses wiped?”

Tara got up and walked out.

When lunch rolled around and Tara saw hide nor hair of either Nancy or Jonathan, she began to seriously panic.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, doll?” Billy asked.

“I haven’t seen Nancy anywhere! This isn’t like her at all!”

“Oh you didn’t hear, Dollface?”

“Hear what, Billy?”

“Wheeler and Byers skipped. They ditched yesterday after lunch and haven’t been seen since.”

“That’s not like them! Jonathan, maybe. But Nancy? Why would she do that?”

“Maybe she got sick of you following her around like a lost puppy.”

Tara bolted off.

“Hey! Don’t you walk away from me!” Billy yelled in pursuit.

Once she found a utility closet, she grabbed Billy, dragged him in and closed the door.

“You could have just said that you wanted some alone time, princess,” he said smugly.

“Billy, what I’m about to tell you absolutely can not leave this room!”

“We’re about to do plenty of things that can’t leave this room,” he said, beginning to grope her.

“I’m dead serious! If this gets out, someone will come after you and someone will DEFINITELY come after Max!”

“Who’s ‘someone’?” Billy asked, lighting a cigarette with no regard to the fact that he could absolutely start a fire in such a close space.

“Goons.”

“Goons?”

“Goons. From the lab?”

Billy only quirked a brow in response.

“The men in black, Billy!”

Billy almost choked on his cigarette trying not to laugh.

“You think aliens took Nancy and Jonathan?”

“That’s not what I said! Obviously, aliens don’t exist!”

“What else would ‘men in black’ possibly refer to?”

“If you’d pay attention, I’ll tell you!”

Billy and Tara were now officially 13 minutes late to 4th period.

“So let me get this straight. You got really sick when you were 14, had to go to the hospital, have almost no memory of your stay there or how you got back home, and you think that this is somehow connected to Holland and Byers’ brother going missing?”

“I know it does! They tried to say Will was dead! And Barb… My point is that Nancy and Jonathan are in big trouble if their reason for being gone has anything to do with that.”

“What do Wheeler or Byers or any of the shit that happened in this shithole town have to do with you going to the hospital? What’s wrong with you? You got some kinda Lex Luthor shit going on or something?”

“Like I already said, for your own good, I can’t tell you!”

“So then why are you even telling me this?” Billy asked, casting a look of annoyance.

“Look, all you need to know is that I got sick and whatever happened at the hospital is probably what made Will and Barb go missing. And if that thing is still a problem, Nancy and Jonathan are in serious trouble!”

“So what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“There’s nothing you can do, Billy! Someone is already trying to help me keep this contained.”

“Fascinating. Can I go now?” he asked pushing past her.

“Look!” Tara said, grabbing his arm. “I just need 5 minutes to try to find Nancy and Jonathan. Can you please just wait outside and cover for me for just 5 minutes?”

“What’s in it for me, doll?”

“I’ll do whatever you want tonight before bed.”

“Whatever I want?” Billy asked, quirking a brow as the corner of his lips turned up into a smirk.

“Yes, Billy. Whatever you want.”

“Deal,” he said, slapping his hand onto her butt for good measure.

With Billy standing guard outside, Tara blindfolded herself with the one washcloth she could find that didn’t smell like a dubious mix of chemicals.

“Where are you guys?”

She lied on the floor, trying to concentrate. She was finally able to return to the black. Maybe her powers were coming back after all.

Maybe. Because she felt a very strong force trying to pull her out of the black. Like she was just barely able to hold on to this connection and definitely couldn’t control where she was going.

“Nancy?” she called out.

“Breathe. Sunflower. Three to the right. Four to the left. Rainbow. 450.”

“Who’s there?”

“Breathe. Sunflower. Three to the right. Four to the left. Rainbow. 450.”

“TARA! TARA WAKE UP!”

Daniel had been vigorously shaking his sister for the past 5 minutes.

“Breathe. Sunflower. Three to the right. Four to the left. Rainbow. 450.”

“What the hell is she saying?” Billy asked.

“I don’t know! Her heart is pounding! I told you that she has heart problems? Why the hell doesn’t anyone listen to me?” Daniel asked.

“Breathe. Sunflower. Three to the right. Four to the left. Rainbow. 450.”

Nearby classes gathered outside, despite protests from teachers, while paramedics examined Tara, who had since come to her senses shortly before their arrival, insisting that she was fine.

“I’m okay! I just need to get to class!” she insisted.

Since her vitals were stable and there was no indication that anything life threatening was occurring, they couldn’t force her to go nor would they need a liability waiver to be signed.

During passing period to her last class, she ran into Eddie, who was the first to see the ambulance pull up to the school and being his nosy self, had to know what was going on.

“Hey! You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just had a moment is all. But I’m good now,” she said unconvincingly.

“You sure? What brought that on, anyway?” he asked, pressing the issue.

“I mean, I think I’m just stressed,” Tara said in a half truth. “I messed up and don’t have a ride home after rehearsal, but—“

The warning bell rang.

“I gotta go!”

Rehearsal thankfully was the one thing in her day that didn’t go horribly wrong. She said goodbye to her fellow dancers and prepared herself to walk home. It couldn’t be helped. She didn’t have a choice.

Or so she thought. She heard a whistle and turned her attention to see Eddie standing by that van she saw pick her brother up and drop him off from school, putting 2 and 2 together and realising it was his.

“Your chariot awaits, princess!”

“You really stayed for me?” Tara asked.

“I couldn’t leave you stranded here.”

“Oh wow. Thanks!”

“Of course, princess.”

Tara got in the van with Eddie and the two drove off.

“Did Tara just get in Eddie Munson’s van?” Summer asked, shocked.

“She sure did,” Kenzie replied.

“She is so gonna get raped.”

“So… rations?” Eddie asked.

“Rations?” Tara repeated, confused.

“Rations! Food! You hungry?”

“Oh! I could eat!”

“Good answer!”

The two pulled up to the Taco Bell drive through and Tara pulled out her wallet.

“Don’t even think about it, princess! Your money is no good here while I’m around.”

Tho two sat in Eddie’s van where they ate, shared stories of what happened in the time that they lost touch, and throughout the conversation, it was clear that Eddie was 100% a changed man and not the horrible bully he used to be.

“Again, really sorry for what a shithead I used to be,” Eddie reiterated.

“You’re forgiven,” Tara said with a smile.

“How gracious of you!” Eddie said, overdramatically plopping his head into her lap. “I have earned forgiveness and begun my redemption arc!”

Tara chuckled and the two were playfighting when she accidentally knocked over his leather jacket, revealing a copy of “The Hobbit” causing him to gasp.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” he exclaimed, quickly starting the van.

“What’s wrong?”

“Forgot to turn that back in! It’s due back today!”

Eddie was driving so frantically that he didn’t stop to remember that the library was still open for 3 more hours and he had plenty of time.

Eddie practically bum rushed the library with Tara following behind him.

“I need to turn this back in!” he said, slamming the book onto the desk before being bombarded with a sea of shushing.

“Well, well, well,” the librarian touted. “Once again. Not a minute late. And can I just say that it’s amazing that the town freak has a better understanding of library rules than One Dustin Henderson?” she asked in a passive aggressive tone.

“Wait, what did Dustin do?” Tara asked.

“Stole books. Breaks my heart to have to revoke his library card.”

“Wait! You can’t do that! You’d practically be killing him!” Tara protested.

“Those are the rules.”

“What if I brought the books back? Would you look the other way?”

That’s how Tara and Eddie ended up at “A Literal Haven” during the closing shift with a list of the books Dustin stole.

“So you work here?” Eddie asked curiously.

“I do!”

“Is it nice?”

“Yeah! It’s pretty cosy.”

Tara frantically gathered the books before letting out an exasperated sigh.

“One of them doesn’t have the same ISBN,” she grumbled.

That meant she wouldn’t be able to just take the replacements directly to the library.

She thought about what to do while Franklin wrung her up.

“Science books?” he asked. “That seems a bit different from your usual interests.”

“Well, to be honest, they’re not for me. This kid I babysit got into trouble with the library and I’m trying to get him out of trouble.”

“Ahhh, I see.”

After paying, Tara and Eddie got back into the van.

“I’ve got it!” Eddie said.

“Hmmm?” Tara asked.

“This Henderson kid. You could knock his door, give him the replacements and ask him to give back the ones he stole. Library looks the other way, he has his books. Everyone’s happy.”

“Eddie, you’re a genius!”

“I know.”

The duo made their to Dustin’s home to drop off the books and take the ones he stole back to the library.

Knock knock.

No answer.

“Hello?”

Tara looked and noticed Mrs. Henderson’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Clearly Dustin wasn’t home, either. Great.

“Looks like nobody’s home,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Tara said before reaching under the decoy rock for the spare key.

“Hey, uh, fun fact I picked up from my dad’s arraignment. If you have a key, it’s still breaking and entering.”

“Which is why you’re going to stay in the van while I get the library copies so Dustin’s library card isn’t revoked,” Tara said, unlocking the door.

“For the greater good,” Eddie said. “I like it!”

Tara went inside with the stack of books to look for the ones he stole.

“That cheeky little twerp is gonna have an earful when I see him again,” Tara remarked.

Tara made her way to Dustin’s room where she saw the stack of books on his desk. There they were. Every single one of them.

Tara took the stack and replaced them with the books she bought and a note that read:

“Replaced these so you don’t lose your library card. You’re welcome.

-Tara”

She took note of the seemingly empty reptile tank.

“I thought Ringo died last summer,” she mumbled. Ringo, being Dustin’s pet gecko, who unfortunately reached the end of his 7 year lifespan on 8 June 1983.

She saw something move underneath the duvet that was covering the tank.

“He must have turned the heat lamp off. That poor thing is gonna freeze to death!” Tara turned the lamp on and removed the duvet.

In the blink of an eye, the tank’s glass shattered and an eldritch hiss rung out in her ears. Before she could process what happened, she felt an agonising chomp on her leg, causing her to scream bloody murder and collapse to the floor.

She looked up and saw what was unmistakably a baby troll that had bitten her leg. The creature crawled up her body, coming dangerously close to her face, before opening its respective face and hissing at her.

The creature lunged at her and Tara was certain that in that moment, she was a goner until Mews, the Henderson family cat, came to the rescue. Mews tackled the creature, taking it between his teeth by its neck and shook it violently, giving Tara the opportunity to crawl out of Dustin’s room, thankfully able to scrape together just enough psychic energy to close the door before she totally collapsed.

Blood ran out of her nose as her heart pounded in her ears. Part of her was worried about Mews, but she rationalised that he would be fine, recounting that time he, as a month old kitten, killed a possum twice his size with no issue. It was the troll who was finished, she thought.

Tara heard Eddie rush up the stairs to tend to her while she caught her breath.

“What the hell happened?” he asked.

“Something bit me! I think it might have been a raccoon or a possum. I don’t know! I didn’t get a good look at it!”

“Ouch! That looks bad! We gotta get you to a hospital.”

“No! It’s not that bad! I just need to go home and rest!”

“Tara, I’d be a really shitty person if I just took you home.”

“I’M NOT GOING TO THE HOSPITAL EVER!” Tara boomed.

“Okay,” Eddie said, raising his hands. “Can you meet me half way and do urgent care?”

“Fine,” Tara relented.

At the facility, the nurses and doctor who examined Tara pretty much told her the same thing.

“Miss Newman, you need to go to the emergency room. You tested negative for rabies. We’ll dress the wound to protect it until you get there, but this injury is serious. We don’t have the tools here to properly treat it.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll have my friend drive me there.”

“Yeah. Do that.”

“What’s the verdict, princess?” Eddie asked.

“They were able to treat the wound. Turns out it wasn’t that serious. I just need to go home and sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

Once they got back to the house, Eddie carried her upstairs to her bed.

“How is it that you’re able to carry me? You and I literally weigh exactly the same.”

“It’s not about what you weigh, it’s about weight distribution,” he declared, setting her onto her bed.

“I need to get my nightgown,” Tara said, starting to get up.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Eddie tutted. “Allow me.”

Eddie got the white nightgown and began to help Tara undress when the worst possible thing that could happen in this moment happened.

“The fuck are you doing with my girl, freak?”

The two looked over to see a very angry Billy with a cigarette in his mouth.

[emetogirl]

alright folks. got another “I experienced a terrifying medical crisis turned into a fanfiction” moment with (yep you guessed it) a super hot guy who came to my rescue.

Without giving away too much personal detail, I frequently pass out, throw up, have seizures, and generally very rarely feel anything other than shit. It’s made working difficult but I’ve earned myself a lot of respect points in the toughness department from my coworkers by persevering through it. So the other day I wake up and I just feel off. Like maybe 70% more miserable than I typically do. I feel dizzy, tired, feverish, nauseous, weak, all that fun stuff. And also sadly all in the range of normal for me. bleh.

I get to work and I feel just terrible. In our before work meeting I let everyone know that today is not a good day but I’m gonna try my best. After being at work for less than half an hour, I’m suddenly hit with a wave of weakness and vertigo that has me stumbling to the break room thinking I’m going to puke. I get to our staff bathroom and just brace my hands on the sink and look into the mirror… my face is extremely pale with tinges of yellow at the corners of my mouth, I’m shivering, and my vision is getting hazy. This was too much for me to breathe through and then get back to work. I knew I was too sick to be here and I needed to go home. I step into the break room where one of my coworkers (who is a close friend) is clocking in and tell her that I’m feeling really sick. She goes to grab my manager while I wait in the break room with my eyes closed, one hand on my chest and the other over my stomach, trying to calm the dizziness and nausea. But whatever was going wrong with my body at the time was just getting worse and I seriously felt so so sick. Apparently my coworker went to the office, told our manager “hey ro says she’s not feeling well and she’s resting in the break room,” my manager exchanges looks with another coworker (who is a very very beautiful man that I may or may not have had a crush on for months) and they both just get up and RUN. But what I see is my manager sprinting into the break room with my other coworker on her heels. And I’m lucky they got there when they did, because I don’t remember what happened next.

What I do remember is that I come to laying on the floor, with my male coworker (I’ll call him A for simplicity) at my side holding my hand and my manager calling 9-1-1. I hear A say, “hey, her eyes are fluttering. She’s waking up.” My vision is still swimming and I can barely see his face. I suddenly realize I can only see out of one eye and that I can’t move or feel one side of my face. He was saying “hey Ro, can you look at me? Can you open your eyes?” but I was too weak to reply. I start fading in an out of consciousness again but can somewhat hear him explaining to the paramedics who are arriving what happened. I catch the words “she just had a seizure” and “she might [and then some words I can’t make out] a stroke.” I guess one side of my face was drooping which has never happened before, and understandably, my coworkers thought I was having a stroke or a TIA. The paramedics sit me up despite me being barely conscious and unable to sit up on my own, so A is supporting literally all of my weight and I am cradled against his chest. My head starts to slip forward and he catches my forehead with his palm and gently leans it agains his shoulder while his other arm stays wrapped around my waist. I’m starting to come to again and can feel myself being held by him and can feel the paramedics strapping on a blood pressure cuff to get my vitals. Then I start to pass out again, hear the words “we need to take her now” and I suddenly feel myself being lifted bridal style by A as he very gently sets me in the gurney to take me to the hospital. I fully wake up in the ambulance and just start SOBBING. There are probably like 8 or so paramedics working around me and none of them seem to know what to do. We get to the hospital and I explain that these episodes are normal for me, I don’t need to be examined (as no treatment exists for my condition), and that I can have someone come pick me up and take me home. I text A to tell him that I’m in the ER and am awake and doing fine now (he’s still at work). He texts back, “i know you would be, i was there to take care of you.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺MY HEART

anyways. we are dating now.

[1kook]

right place, wrong time

— a someway, somehow jungkook drabble summary Home was Jungkook, it had always been Jungkook… but it wasn’t this Jungkook. warnings angst, heart ache, its actually kinda sad :/ lmfao, jk is a little... uh... como se dice.... jerk without realizing it.... justice for oc.... also there’s a scene where oc throws up so !! rating m wc 1.5k

notes THIS TAKES PLACE 5 YEARS BEFORE SWSH ITSELF ! OK ! enjoy <3 i wanted to try writing angst again <3 also i have no self control i said i would post this in 7 hrs yet here i am. and its not proofread <_<

When you were kids, the fact Jungkook’s birthday fell early on into the school year was a huge deal; everyone in your class was invited, both new and returning students, and the event itself was practically the opening scene to the school year itself. As you got older and he began to move away from colorfully decorated parties, his early birthday still earned him a lot of attention, had everyone at your high school congratulating him from the moment the first bell rang until the last. There weren’t any grand birthday bashes during high school, but the Jeons were a loving family, party or no party, and always got him a cake to celebrate each new year. 

Up until you left for college, you had never missed Jungkook blowing out the candles for his birthday. Be it a backyard party bustling with kids or a smaller affair at his favorite restaurant, you had always been invited, always cheered for him with each new year of life he welcomed. 

As a kid, you had always been adamant on getting the spot closest to him as you sang happy birthday, beaming at your best friend like he was your entire world. His childhood photo albums had been proof of that, filled with a chronological sequencing of every birthday he’s had with you at his side, your smiles changing with the times— from missing teeth to full of braces, you had always been at Jungkook’s side. 

As a young-adult, you had to bite down your pride and watch Sojin fulfill that spot. 

You had missed his last two birthdays since entering college. Your first year away from home, everyone you knew warned you about not going home too early into the year, something about how it would solidify your homesickness and you’d never be able to assimilate afterwards. So you had congratulated Jungkook from Taehyung’s phone screen, greatly appreciating the way Taehyung angled the phone away from Sojin as best he could. Then your second year, you had been drowning in that first wave of projects and essays, and simply couldn’t squeeze a five hour drive there and back into your schedule. Jungkook understood; there was no party this year, just a simple family dinner. The video call ended soon after you congratulated him, his attention drawn away by the voice of another woman you knew all too well. 

For his twenty-first birthday, Jungkook was adamant that you attend. He had told you about it before you had left for the new semester, bent over by the front wheels of your car, making sure everything was in tip-top shape before you went off again. His t-shirt was drenched in sweat, trails running down his hairline, over the prominent veins of his neck.“I want you there,” Jungkook had said, taking your offered hand as he stood back up. He must have miscalculated— or maybe it was on purpose —his step, because when he stepped forward, he was all too close. He didn’t let go of your hand. “Please?” 

Your eyes flickered over his chest, to his neck. He smelled like home, or at least the image of it you had created in your mind during your last two years away. Home was lavender fabric softener billowing over you in waves, the faint traces of this morning’s cologne, the subtle scent of his metallic work tools. It was his chocolate curls tickling his eyebrows, his easygoing smile, the way he pulled you closer, made the scents wash over you all over again. 

It was Jungkook. It was Jungkook. It was Jungkook and his warm touch. It was Jungkook and his softened gaze. Home was Jungkook, it had always been Jungkook… but it wasn’t this Jungkook. It wasn’t this Jungkook and the hickey on his neck. 

The sight made your stomach recoil, eyes quickly averted from the site of the crime. He had gotten here later than usual, said something about having to take Sojin somewhere first. So that’s what that meant. Jungkook, unaware of the fact the collar of his t-shirt has let you in on his private life, squeezes your hand. “You’ll come, won’t you?” 

And you were stupid and you were in love, so of course you said yes. 

It’s a cookout this year, his backyard filled to the brim with relatives and friends and so many cans of beer you don’t know what to do. His parents are ecstatic for your return, babbling on and on about how much he missed you for the last two birthdays. You take it in stride, and maybe in a different timeline you would have believed it, but not this one. Aside from greeting you at the door and taking your keys off your hands, you had barely seen the birthday boy all day. You mingle with old friends, his relatives, tentatively sip at your can of soda. You’re tired, the long drive having sapped the majority of your energy for the day. 

Sometime around sunset, you meet eyes with him across the yard. Jungkook smiles, he always smiles. You okay? he mimes with a thumbs-up, and you want to say yes, but Sojin is sitting on his lap, an obnoxiously loud display, and when he puts his hand back down, it immediately finds its home on her thigh. You send him a half-hearted shrug, play it off like you're still a little carsick from the long drive here. 

(Truthfully, you are sick, but you’re not sure it’s from the drive.) 

Even at twenty-one, his family maintains their tradition and sings him happy birthday. With your return, his mother delegates you to cake cutting duties again, so you’re on standby for the song, at his side with the cake cutter in hand. Jungkook is grinning from ear to ear, Sojin attached to his hip, his arm sling around her shoulders. His family sings and sings, and Jungkook is happy. His eyes jump around the table, taking in the sight before him the way he does every year. And when they reach you at his side, Jungkook beams, reaches for your hand beneath the table and squeezes, all the while keeping his girlfriend closely hugged to his other side. 

You cut the cake. Sojin gets her slice and promptly whisks Jungkook away. 

By ten pm, you find yourself in his upstairs bathroom puking your guts out. It’s the carsickness, you tell yourself, or maybe the cake frosting, throat gagging around nothing, tears clinging to your lash line. But is it really?

“__?” someone says, and you make a weak attempt to turn towards the door. You don’t know what you expected— had you actually wanted Jungkook to find you in this sorry state? —but it isn’t Jungkook. “Shit, what happened?” Taehyung worries, hurrying to your aid. And you’re grateful that there’s someone here to help you, to save you from yourself and your stupid, heartbroken thoughts. But it’s not the man you want it to be, and that has you squeezing your eyes shut tightly, until the mascara on your lashes imprints itself against your under eyes instead. 

The man you want bumps into you downstairs, catches Taehyung helping you into the spare bedroom to lie down. “__?” Jungkook calls out, eyes big and scared. “Where— what’s going on?” he asks, thrusting his plate into Sojin’s hands before rushing to your side. He grabs your forearm, and the touch burns, so you yank yourself away. 

Faintly, you hear Taehyung explain. “She’s sick,” he says, pulling you closer. “She’s been out of it since she first got here. I think it was the long drive.” Yes, it was the long drive, you agree. 

Jungkook, unfazed by your first recoil, reaches for your arm again. “I’ve got her,” he tells Taehyung, underestimating his strength when he tugs you closer, has you stumbling into his chest. His rough handling makes your stomach tighten, your head feel dizzy. 

“Jungkook,” you gasp, hand on his chest. “Wait— I’m—“ And he’s trying to move you back up the stairs, probably into his bedroom to lie down. But the sight of the stairs and his overwhelming scent and the hickey on his neck, the hickey Sojin left on his neck, makes you nauseous all over again. 

Taehyung yelps in your defense. “Jungkook,” he scolds, carefully maneuvering you out of Jungkook’s harm’s way. “You’re making it worse.” 

From a few feet away, Sojin calls out his name. “Jungkook?” she says and her voice is so sweet, yet so sticky; it makes you gag. “Baby, they’re calling for you outside.” 

And everyone is saying his name, so he doesn’t know where to look, doesn’t know who to prioritize, not when everyone wants his attention. He looks at you, and your heart soars for a millisecond. Then it plummets when he settles on Sojin instead. “I— you’re right, Tae,” he sighs, backing off, letting go. “You got __, right?” Taehyung nods. “Call me if anything happens.”

And he leaves, slips his hand around Sojin’s waist and guides her out the door. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even tell you to get better soon. He just leaves. 

Taehyung lays you down, doesn’t say a word when you start crying because he probably thinks it’s about your stomach and the vomiting. “It’s okay,” he soothes, helping you out of your shoes. “Does it hurt?”

Yes, you sob. It hurts very badly.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[taylorisbejeweled]

Shawn Mendes Imagine : Baby Mendes

Warning: ⚠️smut⚠️

I was at the mall with my husband of one year Shawn Mendes. I wanted to buy some dresses for myself. We were at some shop I was looking through some dresses Shawn was beside me. Then the cutest little girl who had blue eyes and brown hair came and hugged Shawn's leg. Shawn got scared at first but then smiled at the little girl. "Hi there, what's your name?" Shawn asked politely. "Anna." She replied with a bright smile. She was so cute it melted my heart. Shawn picked her up and asked her where her parents were, she said she doesn't know. We got a little worried but decided to wait at this spot hoping her parents would also be there and would come and find her here . This shop was big. She was such a pretty girl. I took her from Shawn's arm and held her. She giggled and I smiled brightly at her. I pinched her cheek and she gave me the brightest smile ever. "You are vevy pwetty (very pretty) . " She said to me. I smiled and said thank you. She was so friendly. After a few minutes her parents found her. They both were relieved and thanked us both before leaving, before Anna left, she waved us goodbye and we both waved at her too. After that we continued our shopping and we kept smiling like idiots the whole time. We got home and put the bags in our room. I decided to change into some comfy clothes and wore a shirt and shorts. Then I cuddled with Shawn at our sofa. "That girl was adorable." Shawn said softly. "I know, she was also so nice too." I said. When Shawn was holding that little girl, I imagined Shawn being a father and holding our little girl. It made me smile. "You know holding that little girl made me think about being a father. Having a baby, caring for them, loving them." Shawn said. I kept listening and he kept going. "All these things also make me want to be a father." Shawn said. I froze. I looked at him with wide eyes. He said : "I want to have a baby with you Y/N. I want a mini me or you running around the house, playing with toys. I really want this. And I want this with no one except you Y/N." He told me. I kept staring at him with wide eyes then replied: " Shawn, I would love to have a baby with you. I would love to be the mother of your child." We smiled at eachother. "So! Do you wanna make a baby then"? He said smirking. "Right now?" I said. He nodded, I said ok. Then he moved a little and started to kiss me passionately, then he moved his lips to my neck. Then he started to take off my shirt, I was not wearing underwear. He smiled when he saw my boobs and started kissing them. Then he started to take of my pants. I was so wet. I wanted him, I wanted him so badly. He then took me upstairs to our bedroom and then he layed me down on the bed. He took off all of his clothes. Now, I could see his dick. It was so hard. He then moved towards me. And inserted his dick inside me and started moving. It felt so good. I moaned. ''Shawn, you feel so good baby." I moaned. "Gonna carry my baby huh? Gonna make me a dad huh?" He said. "Yes baby." I said. "Shawn go faster." I said. He went faster. At this point I was screaming. "I love you Shawn." I moaned. "I love you too Y/N." Soon we both came. After that he kissed my forehead and then we both went to sleep.

1 Month Later:

I woke up at 11am today. Shawn was not in the bed. I turned around to get my phone from the bedside table, but I saw a paper. I started to read what was written on it:

Dear Y/N,

Really sorry I could not spend the day with you. I had to go to the studio, I will see you at 7. I made breakfast for you, enjoy! :)

I got up from the bed and was putting my slippers on when suddenly I felt nauseous. I rushed to the bathroom and puked. I didn't know why this happened. Was it because I had eaten something bad? Or was it because I was sick? I did not feel sick though. I then cleaned up and went downstairs for breakfast. I ate and then decided to watch a movie. I went out with my friend for lunch, but when the food arrived I felt nauseous and went to the bathroom to puke again. I could not eat the food so I just left. Why was this happening to me? Then I suddenly remembered, Me and Shawn had sex without a condom like some weeks ago. So, I might be pregnant. Before I got Into my car to go home, I got a pregnancy test from some store and then went home. When I got home, I went to the bathroom and quickly peed on the stick and waited five minutes. I was hoping I was pregnant. Then, I went inside and I checked. My eyes widened and I smiled brightly. I AM PREGNANT. I also cried tears of joy and then I washed my hands and left the bathroom. I can't wait to tell Shawn tonight. I was preparing dinner. Thank god I didn't feel nauseuous this time. I wondered how I would tell him I was pregnant. He wasn't home yet. Then I had the perfect idea. Shawn arrived home soon and kissed me. He then went to the room to take a bath. After his bath. We both had dinner. I brought a bottle of wine to the dinner table and a glass along with it. I served him some wine. He asked me why am I not drinking. I said: " Well, hmmm I don't know. I can't have any." He was confused. "W-why not?" He asked. "Ummmm." I said. I did not want to tell him. I wanted him to guess by himself. After a few seconds he realised it. "Omg Y/N! You're pregnant?" He asked, I nodded. I smiled he hugged me tightly and kissed me on the lips. Then he kissed me on both cheeks and then he kissed my forehead. "I'm going to be a dad!" He yelled again. He then lifted my shirt up a little and kissed my stomach, he said: "Hi there, little one. I am your daddy. I love you so much, I cannot wait to meet you." We both were so happy.

8 Months Later

I am at the hospital right now with Shawn about to give birth to our beautiful baby. I was so scared about giving birth, Shawn started to comfort me and tell me everything was going to be fine, then he kissed my forehead. After some minutes the doctor told me that I am ready to push. It was hard, really hard but luckily my lovely husband Shawn was there with me. He was holding my hand tightly. "Come on Y/N! You can do it! Keep pushing!" Shawn said. I tried my best and kept pushing. Finally, I heard cries of a newborn and I was relieved. I got teary eyed because my baby was finally here. "It's a boy! " the doctor said. "Y/N, you did this. I'm so proud of you baby." Shawn told me. Then he kissed me and went to hold the baby. The nurse placed the baby in Shawn's arm. He was so tiny compared to Shawn. "Hi buddy! I'm your daddy, I love you so much we're gonna have so much fun." Shawn told the baby. Then he gave the baby to me. He was so cute. I kissed his cheek. "Mommy, loves you." I told him softly. We decided to name him Jack. "He has your eyes." Shawn said. "Well, he has his dad's nose and lips." I said. He had a little bit of hair. He had Shawn's chocolatey brown hair. Shawn took him from me and smiled. "We made that Y/N." He said and then smiled at me. "Yeah, we did." I said.

I was so happy I finally had a baby with the love of my life. I knew Shawn was going to be an amazing dad because he was a kind, smart and loving person.

Hey Guys! Hope you enjoyed reading this. Sorry for posting after a long time. I will try writing more. Next Imagine coming on Wednesday :))

[fawad-khan]

birthdays and wonders

A/N: heyyy so this is an entry for @hollandsrecs tom’s birthday fic fest! hope u enjoy and let me know how this was!

Masterlist

(edit is mine!)

Pairing- Tom Holland x reader, both are married here :)

Word Count- 1.5k+ (yea i should practice writing more)

Prompt-  your birthday present for tom: telling him you're pregnant

Warning- just mentions of sickness and vomiting in the beginning, nothing too much.

Summary- on tom’s birthday, you have a certain special gift for thomas this year.

You tossed and turned on your bed as you felt something come up your neck and would come out of the mouth any moment. You felt nauseous. You opened your eyes and sat up. You climbed off the bed, trying not to make noise and wake Tom. You made your way towards the bathroom, covering your mouth so that you could avoid puking on the floor.

Quickly, you opened the bathroom door and jogged towards the toilet and lifted the seat and emptied the contents of your stomach inside the toilet bowl. As the contents left, you could feel a bit better.

When you were finally done, you flushed and rinsed your mouth thoroughly to get rid of the taste of vomit. You walked back to the bed and got inside the covers beside Tom, who stirred a bit in his sleep and subconsciously pulled you closer towards him. Closing your eyes, you drifted back to sleep.

----

This continued for a week. You didn't tell anyone about this, as it didn't seem like a big deal with you. Also because Tom would make a really big fuss, although that was also something that made him so adorable. You thought maybe this was a flu bug that was in the air and decided to dismiss this and focused on the upcoming days. 

Tom's birthday was approaching and you wanted to keep a small and homely affair with all of his family and best mates.

Right now, you were discussing the food menu and decorations to do. Since Tom was out doing some work, this was the perfect opportunity to plan everything out and hence you had called Harrison, Harry, Sam and Tuwaine to help you out and discuss the food, time, drinks, etc.

You suddenly felt an urge to pee real bad. This was weird, considering you had just gone to the bathroom ten minutes ago.

"Shit" you muttered, hurrying towards the bathroom again. You came out five minutes later, feeling very suspicious. This happened a bunch of times in the previous day as well. You were trying to wrack your brains.

Then it struck to you. You took out your phone and checked the calendar, and sure enough, your period was late by a week already. Now, just to be sure, you needed a test.

You went back to the living room, where the boys were chatting and planning.

"Hey Haz, could you come here for a second? I need to talk about something." He nodded and walked towards you. You gestures him to follow you to the kitchen so that you could get some privacy.

"What's up, (y/n)?" 

You took a deep breath. "Well, uh, I really don't know how to say this, but um I've been feeling some things over the last few days and uh" you looked down for a minute, wondering how were you gonna speak the words you were about to say next.

"I think I might be pregnant." You bit your bottom lip nervously as you looked at his face for his reaction. He held a bewildered expression, his eyes widened as he tried to process what you just told him.

"Wait, really? You're pregnant?" He asked, still confused.

"I think so, I'm not really sure."

"Oh, I see. Well, do you have any tests lying around? You could take a test and check."

"Well, that's what I called you here for. Could you just maybe purchase some tests from the nearby store? If it's possible?"

"Of course! I'll be glad to help you however I can." He smiled, making you smile too.

"Thanks Haz, you're a lifesaver."

"Anytime. I'll just go now and bring them for ya."

"Oh and Haz? Can you just not tell anyone right now? Especially Tom? I don't want anyone to know just in case this was a false alarm or anything."

"Of course, my mouth is zipped. You have my word."

"Thanks. Now hurry along!" With that he went out and made a simple excuse of getting a phone call and quickly went to the nearby medical store and bought a small bunch of tests. He came back carrying them in a small bag, entering inside quietly and sneakily placing them in your room, without anyone seeing him. He came back and nodded at you, you mouthed a thanks to him.

Later, when the other boys had gone, you decided now would be safe to test. Harrison, of course, stayed back as he wanted to know whatever the outcome was, and be there for you.

You went to the bathroom and prepared yourself to pee on the stick. Luckily, you made sure to drink a decent amount of water just in case so that this would go smoothly. 

You waited for five minutes and checked the tube. Surely, it showed two lined, which indicated that the test was positive and you were indeed, pregnant.

"Oh my god." You could not help saying to yourself.

"Is everything ok?" Haz asked, knocking softly at the door.

"Yeah, yeah it's alright." You replied, heading to the door and opening it.

"Well?" He asked, looking at you.

"It's positive."

"Oh my god is it true?"

"Yes it is Haz! You're going to be an uncle!" You smiled as he jumped a little in excitement like a kid. He gave you a tight hug, which you responded by hugging him as well, giggling and smiling.

"Hey, uh let's just not tell Tom yet. Or anyone. I think I know the perfect time to tell him." You looked at him knowingly, hoping that he could get the drift, which he did.

"You got it, chief."

----

"Happy birthday to you, Tom!" You sang as he cut his cake. The party turned out to be a very and cozy affair, with everything going well as planned.

You were yet to give your gift to Tom. You decided that it would be better when you both were alone and had your privacy to do it.

While the others were busy on distributing the cake and food for each other and taking their share, you went to Tom and hugged him from behind, making him grin and hold your hands wrapped around his waist.

"Happy birthday, darling." You mumbled in his ear, giving him a sweet kiss on his lips.

"Thanks love." He chuckled, turning around to give you a proper hug and pull you closer to him, his head resting on your shoulder and taking in your scent which always reminded him of home and comfort, what he always felt when he was with you.

"Hey, wanna come to the room for a second? I wanna show you something." He nodded and you took his hand in yours and walked to the bedroom. You walked to your cupboard and took out a small, neatly wrapped box which you had kept for this particular occasion.

"Here's my present. Happy birthday, baby." You whispered to him, handing him the gift. 

"Thanks, angel. Wonder what's in here." He sat on the bed and unwrapped the box, wondering what could be there. You could feel your heartbeat go faster as you waited for his reaction. He took out the box and opened the lid, his eyes scrunched in confusion as he saw a pregnancy kit there.

He picked it up and observed it closely in his hands and noticed there were two lines, which made him gasp in surprise and look at you. He got up, taking the pregnancy kit in hand walked to you, hoping he had read the situation right.

"Darling, is this what I think it is?  I mean, is it true? Are you h-having a baby?" He looked down gently at your belly and looked at your face again. You smiled and nodded, taking his hand and placing it on your belly.

"Yes Tom. We're having a baby." You smiled softly, waiting for his reaction.

"Oh my god, babe this is so amazing! We're gonna have a baby, a mini you or mini me in our arms in a few months, I just- wow!" He chuckled softly, running his fingers through his curls. He gave you a big hug, holding you close to him. You could hear him sniffle a bit as you hugged him back, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I'm so happy and excited, darling." He mumbled in your ear.

"Me too, Tom. I'm excited for this." You could feel tears of joy coming out of your eyes. You pulled away from the hug and cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a soft kiss. His soft lips moved with yours as he squeezed your waist gently. You pulled away and placed your forehead on his, looking into his eyes filled with happy tears. 

You both could not help but giggle, feeling so ecstatic about having a child, two years into your marriage, and were ready to welcome a little baby into your world.

"I love you, (y/n)."

"I love you too, Tom." You smiled.

"Now wanna tell the others?"

"Yeah, let's do that. Although, Harrison knows." You winked. With that you walked towards the door to break the news to everyone, while Tom muttered a 'hey!' before coming to join you to break the news. 

This certainly had been an amazing birthday, he thought. You were both looking forward to having your child and what the future held for you.

The End

taglist link in reblog!

[keanureevesisbae]

But professor… - c.7

Summary: Penny discovers something

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of sex

Masterlist // But professor… masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

It’s February now and I officially quit school. Never in a million years did I think that I would be good enough for it anyway and when I went back after Christmas break, I realized I wasn’t in the right place at all. Ever since I dropped out, I have been looking into cosmetology school and how to tell my parents about this sudden change.

Walter is getting ready to teach for today and is going to drop me off at the mall, because I need to buy a few things. Since I have yet to move out of the dorm, I need at least some boxes and just some other items.

‘Princess, you look absolutely gorgeous,’ Walter says, patting my butt through my jeans.

I squeal, before turning around, slapping him across his chest. ‘Don’t do that,’ I laugh.

‘Why not?’ He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me up. ‘You’ve got a cute butt.’

After I triple checked if I have everything, the two of us leave his loft and walk downstairs towards the garage, his hand securely wrapped around mine. Like usual, he opens the door for me and kisses me the second he got in his truck as well. It’s becoming a thing now and it’s weird if he doesn’t do it.

Walter holds my hand as he drives towards the mall. ‘Princess, how about you and I get you moved in the middle of the night? So I can help you carry some boxes.’

‘I can ask someone to help me,’ I say. ‘Maybe just call someone from one of those services. Please, I don’t want to risk running into someone I might possibly know.’ When I notice he isn’t liking it, I say: ‘Please, Walter, don’t sweat it. I can move out myself.’

‘I know, I know,’ he grumbles. ‘It’s just that I want to help you out.’ He presses a kiss on my hand and leans back in his seat. ‘You look beautiful.’

‘Do you need to tell me that every opportunity you get?’

‘Yes,’ he simply says. ‘Come on, princess, scoot a little closer.’

It’s been a few weeks since he got the truck fixed, so I could sit closer to him. I unbuckle myself, before sliding over to his side. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and I close my eyes after I strapped myself into the seatbelt. ‘You’re so needy,’ I chuckle.

‘I’m not needy, I just love you. Need you as close as possible, darling.’

His arm feels heavy on my shoulders and when we’re close to the mall, I say: ‘Do you need anything?’

‘Maybe some snacks, but I’ll leave that up to you.’ He gives me a long kiss, before I get out of the truck.

‘I love you,’ I say.

‘I love you too, princess. Text me when you’re back at the loft, okay?’

‘Will do.’

✎ ✎ ✎

Shopping was nice, until I had to throw up. That never happened to me before. I think in my entire life I have vomited only once, until today. I stare at the stomach contents that are floating in the toilet. I can’t think of eating anything that has made this nauseous I need to puke.

Why would anyone vomit? The only reasons I can imagine is food poisoning, a stomach bug or being pregna—

Oh.

Could it be?

I flush the toilet and with the moving boxes that I have yet to fold into boxes, I walk through the shopping mall to the drugstore. I ask the woman behind the registry if I can have a pregnancy test and she simply nods. I don’t know what I was expecting (maybe the woman first completing a three hour interview before handing me a test, I don’t know), but after I paid for it and hid it in my purse, I walk out of the mall.

What if I’m pregnant? I mean, yes, I did skip a period, but that is not new to me. I mean, I’ve been pretty regular all my life, minus a few times. Normally me skipping a period didn’t make me suspect anything, since I wasn’t having sex, nor was I the next virgin Mary, but now…

Walter and I have been having sex quite a lot. I mean, it’s always with a condom of course, but even those are not one hundred percent effective.

I might be naive from time to time, but I’m not that stupid to unrealistic about the effectiveness of condoms.

The bus ride back to the loft couldn’t be any longer and when I finally arrive at Walter’s place (soon to be ours), I quickly text him I’m home, before hiding into the bathroom. Buying one was weird, peeing on a stick is weirder.

As I wait for the two minutes to pass by, I think about what to do. Would I have a baby at this age? I mean, I’ve always wanted kids and maybe now is a good time? Okay, no, it’s not absolutely ideal (the timing couldn’t have been more off), but… I’m not in school right now and—

Oh no, that’s just me being selfish and only thinking about my situation. I haven’t even thought about Walter yet. We never spoke about having kids, because I don’t think you are supposed to do that this early on in your relationship.

Right?

Oh my goodness, this is too much for me to think about. Let’s just wait until I see what the test says. I mean, there is a possibility I’m not pregnant and just a little bit late with my period and caught a stomach bug. Why think about all sorts of scenarios when there is a chance that it’s not applicable to me.

I grab the test and discover it has two strips. After a quick examination of the box I discover that…

I’m pregnant.

✎ ✎ ✎

Six hours. Six hours have passed by since I took the first test. In that time, I went back to the drugstore, to buy another one and peed on that one as well. They say there is no such thing as a false positive, but I’d rather be too sure.

And that one was also positive.

So naturally I spend my time wisely until Walter came home. I’ve been pacing through the loft, looked online how to tell your partner that you are pregnant and I ate some watermelon.

Walter walks in with a deep frown between his brows, but that disappears when he sees me. ‘Princess,’ he says, ‘you have no idea how much I missed you.’ He sits next to me on the couch and gives me a kiss. The frown appears again when he takes in my expressions. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

He nods. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, it’s just that… I don’t know. It’s kinda huge.’

He places his arm on the backrest, while his other hand takes mine. ‘Tell me, princess.’

Don’t beat around the bush, just tell him. ‘I’m pregnant, Walter.’

If it were possible, I’d suspect someone pressed on pause, because Walter completely froze. He tries to find some words for it, however nothing seems to leave his lips. I mean, what am I expecting from him? I’m trying to figure out whether or not I should be happy or scared.

‘Oh,’ he finally says. ‘And you’re planning to keep the baby or not?’

I nod. ‘I do and I understand that it’s too soon for us and that you won’t want to stay. I really understand that, Walter. I’m so sorry.’

Walter scoffs and actually looks super offended. ‘I do not understand why you think I wouldn’t stay, because I’m going to be right by your side, every step of the way.’ He squeezes in my hand and says: ‘You will never get rid of me that easily, princess.’

I let out a nervous chuckle, realizing how stupid it was of me to actually think he wouldn’t stay. I mean, we’re talking about Walter here. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘for just assuming. It’s just that my brain is working overtime. I might be a little scared.’

He nods. ‘I understand. It’s quite a lot, but let’s think about one thing first, okay?’ His lips curl up into a smile and says: ‘We’re going to be parents.’

When someone else says it, it’s even more meaningful. My eyes fill with tears as realization hit that I am indeed gonna be a mom and that Walter is staying, thus becoming a dad.

Walter pulls me closer and gives me a kiss on my forehead. ‘Princess, it’s okay.’

‘I know, but it’s so scary. So much is gonna change.’

He nods. ‘Nothing we can’t handle though.’ He pulls me on his lap and gives me another peck, this time on my lips. ‘Now we really need to get you out of that dorm. This weekend I’ll make sure someone is gonna help you with moving and you’re gonna stay right here with me.’

I smile. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘And,’ he says, ‘do you really want to go to cosmetology school now? We can always arrange something when the baby is here.’

‘I kinda want to focus on the pregnancy first, since I have no idea what to expect.’

‘Alright,’ he says, ‘then we’ll wait with that.’ He places his hand on my flat stomach and says: ‘Oh shit, Penny, I’m gonna be a dad.’

I can’t help but squeal when I think about it a while longer. ‘And I’m gonna be a mom.’

✎ ✎ ✎

It’s only obvious that we have to tell my parents. After I had my first scan, I realize that I really shouldn’t push the matter and just tell them, especially because the baby is healthy and I’m out of my first trimester at fifteen weeks of pregnancy. Besides, I also officially live with Walter and those nerves are slowly becoming less and less prevalent.

My bump is minuscule, but that doesn’t stop Walter from continuously placing his hands on it when he can. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, his hands are always on my stomach, but that’s okay. It’s sweet to see the demeanor of the detective change from someone who always has a figurative thunderstorm hanging above his head, to someone with childlike happiness.

We’re driving to Maryland now and we’ve been on the road for a mere forty-five minutes, when I say: ‘I have to pee.’

Walter starts to laugh loudly. ‘Again? Princess, you went three times back at home.’

Home. That shouldn’t make me giggly, but sure does. ‘I know, but I have to go again.’

‘Lucky you there’s a gas station right here.’ He gets off the road and parks his car. ‘Want something to eat, princess?’

‘Some orange juice, chips and chocolate.’

He simply nods and tells me to stay put. As usual, he opens the door for me. He was already very chivalrous when we just started dating, but pregnancy has multiplied it by a hundred. He securely places his hand on the small of my back and like the true detective he is, he checks everything and everyone in the gas station, before he says: ‘I’ll be right here, princess.’

I squeeze his hand, a silent thank you, before walking off to the restrooms to pee. After I washed and dried my hands, I exit the restrooms, to see Walter is already waiting for me, with all the snacks I wanted and even some more.

It’s nice to know that he still loves me a lot, even after we spend so many weeks together.

Once we’re back in the car, I let out a deep sigh.

‘Princess, you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m good. Just tired.’

‘Why don’t you sleep?’ he suggests. ‘I’ll let you know once we’re close.’

I groan. ‘No, because that is so boring and I’ve been boring for so many weeks now.’

He scoffs. ‘You’re not boring, you’re pregnant. You’re allowed to be tired, princess and please just catch up on some sleep now.’

I hold his hand in mine, as I close my eyes and drift off to a light sleep. Walter doesn’t need to wake me up, because after an hour or so my eyes flutter open and I smile. ‘We’re almost there?’

‘Maybe an hour?’

I grab some of the snacks and feed Walter, as he continues to watch the road. I once saw how he drove, because we were video calling then. It was fast, hasty and in my opinion not very safe. When he drives with me, he doesn’t ignore the speed limits and is very very safe.

Imagine if there’s a child in the back, I bet he’ll drive just as safe, if not safer.

He places his hand on my stomach and says: ‘I’m not gonna lie, but I’m kinda nervous to meet your parents.’

‘You are?’ I ask. I thought nervous wasn’t in his dictionary. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just nerve wracking. Not only have I never met them, but I also got you pregnant. That usually doesn’t do well.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry,’ I say. ‘My parents are very open minded. Besides, my mom and I used to watch Sixteen and Pregnant and she always said that despite not having to worry about that since I lived like a nun back then, she’d love a grandchild. So, I think we’re good. Also, my dad is probably a little scared of you. He is not that tall.’

Walter chuckles. ‘Well, maybe this’ll go well.’

‘It’ll go splendid, Walter,’ I say, ‘really. If my parents see how well you take care of me, then there is nothing to worry about.’ I place my hand on his and whisper: ‘They’ll love you.’

He smiles. ‘Good. Alright, let me get this straight one last time: we met at a coffee place, right?’

‘Correct,’ I chuckle.

The last part of the drive goes by fast and before we get out of the truck, I put on a sweater to hide the little bump. Walter unbuckles himself and his hand slips underneath the thick fabric, placing it on my tiny bump. He leans forward to press a kiss on it and says: ‘I can do this forever. I might have to quit my job, so I can do this whenever I want.’

I roll my eyes. He has been taking this dad thing so serious and while sometimes it’s very cheesy, I love him for it. Really, I couldn’t have asked for a better man to start having a family with. Is it pretty short notice, being only together a little over four months? Yes, of course, but that’s okay. I feel like the two of us can actually handle it. ‘We should go.’

We get out of the car and when we walk up to the door (Walter holding our luggage, since my mom insisted we stayed in the house I grew up in) my parents open the it and mom runs up to me.

‘Oh, honey, there you are!’ She gives me a hug and I hold back a little, so she won’t feel my bump against her body. I give my dad a hug as well and they look both hopeful and a little nervous when they see Walter.

‘Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend Walter. Walter, these are my parents, Lance and CC.’

Walter is polite, a role that fits him so well, yet I barely see it. He is always so sweet and kind to me, so grumpy and annoyed when it comes to my classmates and so neutral when it’s others. Now it changes a bit. He smiles, he shakes my parents’ hands and from the look of their faces, he isn’t over squeezing it (I actually had to tell him that). ‘Nice to meet you,’ Walter says. ‘You have a lovely looking home.’

‘Oh, aren’t you a dear.’ Mom ushers us to come inside and Walter places his hand on my back, as we follow them inside. I give him a little nod, a sign that it is all going well.

And, it actually goes really well. My parents are in love with Walter and he is slowly warming up to them, eventually even cracking some jokes. We talked about how the two of us “met”, what Walter does for a living (currently he is working at the police department in New York and not as professor at NYU) and a little bit about my parents’ work. Of course, the subject school came up once or twice, but I kinda chickened out telling them I actually quit.

I clear my throat and say: ‘I actually have some news.’

Walter finds my hand underneath the table and gives me a reassuring squeeze.

‘What is it, honey?’ mom asks.

I look at Walter, whose eyes say it all: I’m ready when you are. ‘Well,’ I whisper, ‘I… I’m pregnant.’

Oh no, they’re silent. Oh my gosh, how are they going to react? I bet they’re mad. Oh, shit, my dad is clenching his jaw. They are totally mad.

‘Are you serious?’ my mom asks, blinking a few times.

I nod. ‘Fifteen weeks.’

‘Oh my goodness,’ mom says. ‘Honey, that is amazing. I am so happy for you.’ She stands up from the table and walks over to me. I give her a hug and she whispers: ‘You’ll be a fantastic mom.’ She pulls back and squeals something about becoming a grandmother. She places her hand on my stomach. ‘Oh my, a little bump. Honey, this’ll go fantastic. I am sure you and Walter will become magnificent parents. That reminds me, Walter, give me a hug. You’re officially part of the family, now. Congratulations, sweetheart.’

Walter stands up and gives my mom a tight hug. Dad walks up to me and holds my face in his hands. ‘You’re gonna be an amazing mother,’ he says.

‘You think so?’

‘I don’t think so, I know so.’ He gives me a kiss on my forehead and says: ‘Is this also a right moment to tell me you quit school?’

My eyes enlarge. ‘How did you know?’

‘You can maybe fool your mom, but you can never fool me, sweetheart. You know, you focus on your pregnancy now. You can always go back to school.’

I let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully he is pretty cool about me just quitting. We’ll talk about eventually going to cosmetology school a little bit later on. ‘I love you, dad.’

‘I love you too.’

✎ ✎ ✎

That night, Walter and I are in my old room, squeezed in my two person bed (that is a little slimmer than the one back in the loft) and we reminisce about the evening. It went more than splendid, even when my mom forced me to take off my sweater so she could see the bump. She called at least ten friends to tell them she is gonna be a grandmother and that the child will be gorgeous and lovely, though they have yet to be born.

Walter turns to his side so he can look at me and says: ‘Okay, I have a proposition,’ he says, ‘and I want your honest opinion.’

‘Okay.’

‘How about, you and I move to Maryland?’

Is he serious? ‘Really?’

‘Really. I could see how happy your parents were with the pregnancy and maybe… Maybe they’d like it if you would be closer to them. Besides, I can arrange something and work in Maryland. It’s not like I’m bounded to New York. For that matter, I actually really want to leave that place, because if I see that slimy ass Fitzgerald one more time…’

While I start to laugh because of his personal vendetta against Fitzgerald, my hormones are also all over the place, because I bawl my eyes out only a second later.

‘Princess, don’t cry. This is good news.’ He presses kisses on my temple and cheek, kissing my tears away. ‘But I’ll take that as a yes?’

I nod. ‘I would love that, Walter. Thank you.’

[secretobsessionstuff]

Been thinking about Mateo and Shawn lately !! They remind me of myself and my own partner, so I figured maybe i’d... request something based on one of my own experiences. Long story short, I had been with them all day but I was feeling really dizzy and nauseous. I was thinking about my partners gentle way of comforting me, by holding my forehead while i was getting sick or gently running their fingertips on my back. Perhaps you could do something like this with mateo and shawn? Maybe shawn is really out of it and mateo is worried he might bother shawn if he touches him too aggressively (?) i guess? I love their dynamic <33

Thank you all for being patient as I slowly get to requests. This was a super cute one 💕

It was nearing the evening when Shawn started to get tired. As the sun began to set, with golden hour in full swing, he too wanted to dip below the horizon to sleep. He and Mateo had been out all day doing errands and planned to get dinner at a new restaurant, but now Shawn just wanted to go home.

The fatigue and dizziness hit suddenly. It was the nausea that grew steadily stronger as the sun continued to leave for the day. He lazily moved through the store, holding onto the clothing racks to keep himself upright. People must have thought he was drunk with the way he swayed down the aisles.

He eventually found his boyfriend in one of the aisles trying on shoes. Shawn sighed as he found a place to sit next to a pile of shoes that Mateo was considering buying. It was only when he sat down that he realized how weird he felt. He realized that he could have passed out right there if he wanted to. Suddenly his lunch wasn’t sitting so well in his stomach. He looked up at Mateo with half-closed eyes.

“What do you think of these?” Mateo asked as he admired the leather shoes in the mirror.

“You look good in everything,” Shawn said through a yawn, not really looking at the shoes. Still, it wasn’t a lie. Mateo could walk out of here with slippers, and Shawn would be eager to see them kicked off haphazardly at the foot of his bed. Just not today. “Are you almost done? I want to go home soon.”

Mateo spun around, feeling fancy in the new shoes. He wasn’t going to buy them though because he needed more time to decide, and it didn’t look like Shawn had more time – he looked like he was going to fall asleep in the middle of the store. “You don’t want to get dinner at that new Thai place?”

Shawn scrunched up his nose. “My stomach isn’t feeling so good.” The blurriness around his vision wanted to creep closer in, and his head wanted to fall off his shoulder. “Actually, a lot of me isn’t feeling so good.”

After switching the shoes out for his actual pair, Mateo sat on the bench and looked into his boyfriend’s eyes which were bloodshot and glassy. He touched the back of his hand to Shawn’s forehead and pulled back in surprise. “It does feel like you a small fever.”

Shawn groaned and let his head fall on Mateo’s shoulder. “My eyes are burning and I’m dizzy. Will you drive?”

Mateo helped his boyfriend up. “Sure. Anything else bothering you?” It was tough not to fall back into the script that he used for patients, but Shawn didn’t seem to care.

“My stomach.”

“You already said that.”

“Well, it really hurts,” he whined, only half joking because his stomach really was in knots. “Add short term memory loss to the list.”

Getting in the car did not sound like a fun time, but Shawn did so anyway. The ride wasn’t as bad as he thought because he fell asleep before Mateo left the parking lot.

Mateo enjoyed the quiet drive back. Shawn’s car drove smoothly and silently, letting his boyfriend stay asleep the whole time. That might have been a testament to how Shawn was feeling rather than the car’s performance, however. Mateo snuck glances at Shawn’s paler than normal face. The tattoo on his neck stood out even more against the ashen skin.

“We’re here,” Mateo said as he parked the car. Shawn stayed asleep. “Babe, wake up.”

The snoring continued so Mateo got out of the car and came around to the passenger side. He unbuckled Shawn’s seat belt and felt the heat rolling off his body. “Oh boy, you’re really warm,” Mateo mumbled to himself, but it seemed to have startled Shawn from his sleep.

Shawn looked around and squinted. The first thing he registered was the fresh new wave of nausea coursing through his veins. With Mateo’s help, they walked to the door. Shawn’s legs really wanted to buckle under him. “Fuck, that nap did not help. I feel so much worse.”

“Yeah, your fever’s gotten worse too,” Mateo said as he opened the door for his boyfriend. “How’s your stomach?”

“Sick. I think I might puke.”

“You could wait for me in the bathroom while I put our groceries away.” Mateo set their bags down on the counter. “I want to take your temp—or you can crash on the couch. That works too,” he said as he watched Shawn fall onto the soft cushions.

With the thermometer and a bucket, Mateo joined Shawn on the couch. He wasn’t asleep, surprisingly. The grimace on his face told Mateo that he was too nauseous to sleep. His body took up most the couch so Mateo gently lifted Shawn’s head and placed it on his own lap.

Shawn moaned as he was jostled around. When he was settled back down on Mateo’s legs, he let out a heavy exhale. Even while lying down, the room felt like it was spinning around his head.

“Sorry, hon,” Mateo said softly. “Will you put this under your tongue?”

While Shawn held the thermometer in his mouth, Mateo ran his hands through his boyfriend’s hair. He hated hearing Shawn’s heavy breathing which served as a reminder that he was miserable. Mateo decided he would keep gliding his fingers through Shawn’s hair until his breathing slowed down or until the thermometer beeped. Whichever came first.

The thermometer beeped first. The device told him that Shawn’s temperature was sitting just below 102°F. It wasn’t terrible but not great. Still, Mateo never liked to treat anything under 103°F. This was the body’s way of curing itself. Of course, Shawn’s body had other plans to deal with whatever was making him sick, but that was a more unpleasant process.

Shawn groaned and squirmed around on Mateo’s lap. He wanted to stay where he was because Mateo’s fingers felt great, but the nausea was reaching its peak. His belly gurgled loudly, making him curl in on himself.

Mateo heard the gurgled and felt his boyfriend tense up beneath his hand. “Are you gonna be sick? Need the bucket?”

With a hand over his mouth, Shawn nodded quickly. He lifted himself up with his arm, careful not to elbow Mateo in the crotch. He reached for the bucket, but his beautiful boyfriend held it up to his mouth so that he didn’t have to. Shawn still grabbed one side, just to help him aim and to keep him from falling off the couch.

He gagged emptily at first, making his whole body shudder. The nausea filled his mouth with saliva and caused his jaw to quiver. Another gag caught in his throat.

“I’ve got you, just let it happen,” Mateo said while holding the bucket steady. He could feel the strain that it had on Shawn’s body just from the way he shook.

Shawn gagged one last time before a real wave of sick came rushing up his throat. He lurched forward from the force of the heave. With his eyes squeezed shut and tears gathering on his lashes, he heard the splatter of sick as it hit the bottom of the bucket.

A mix between a cough and a heavy exhale followed a wet burp. Shawn’s chest moved rapidly as he tried to catch his breath in between retches. “Ugh everything hurts, Teo.”

Mateo’s go-to choice of comfort in this instance would be to rub Shawn’s back or stomach but he hesitated when he heard the pain in the boy’s voice. Shawn’s body was already tense and flooded with misery; he didn’t know if his boyfriend wanted to be touch that much. In the past there had been times when Shawn was too overwhelmed for any extra stimuli. Sometimes he couldn’t stand having his shirt rub against his skin when he was sick.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Mateo said gently, with his free hand hovering awkwardly in the air. “Will it help if I rub your back?”

Shawn swallowed thickly, aware that a second bout was coming. “Maybe. Can you do it lightly…you know, like the tracing.”

Mateo knew exactly what he was talking about. Sometimes when neither of them could sleep, they took turns tracing shapes on each other’s back with their fingertips. It started out as a game to guess the pictures, but it quickly turned into random patterns that left goosebumps on their arms.

With the lightest touch, Mateo started at the top of Shawn’s spine and slowly worked his way down. Then he circled back up to the base of his neck, taking his time to make each touch gentle.

When he felt the muscles in Shawn’s back tense up, he quickly lifted his hand in fear that he hurt him. Shawn just belched up another gush into the bucket. Without a second to breathe, he was bringing up the next wave of stomach contents. Shawn gasped for air and went right back into it with a groan.

“Shh, shh, it’ll be over soon,” Mateo whispered as resumed his gentle tracing.

For a long time, Mateo kept up the gentle movement of his hands, even when the vomiting seemed to have tapered off into plain old hellish nausea. It’s the worst feeling of still being nauseous when the puking stops, but that’s the land where Shawn found himself after wiping the bile from his lips.

Physically exhausted, Shawn slumped back down on Mateo’s lap. His throat was raw and his abdomen screamed from the work. Every breath hurt. But the one thing that made it easier to deal with was the pitter patter of soft fingertips on his back. It reminded him of peaceful rain during an afternoon nap.

“That feels nice,” he sighed and closed his eyes.

Mateo smiled. He kept his voice low because he could see that Shawn’s breathing was slowing down. “Do you feel better?”

“A little.” Shawn yawned. “I could actually fall asleep.”

“Then fall asleep. I won’t stop.”

Mateo was pleased that he didn’t hear a response. He was pleased to hear Shawn’s breathing even out. As promised, he danced his fingertips across his boyfriend’s back, at least until he too fell asleep.

[totallyexhausted]

So, I am re-watching Danny Phantom and the idea of Lancer caring for an ill Danny crossed my mind after I read all the ones I could find. I also toyed with Danny’s powers; him being able to change, obviously, but also seance and see dead spirits (and ghosts; leaving spirits and ghosts as separate entities) walking around. Basically, I upped the rating on Danny Phantom and combined Klaus Hargreeves powers with Danny’s own abilities.

Also, I’ll say, and maybe it’s the song I’m listening to, or the fact that I was reworking Greenberg and Coach from TW, but I got the picture of Danny showing up at Lancer’s door, high off his ass mumbling about Sam, Ghosts, and other teenager things.

…………………………………..

Lance Lancer had never seen a kid so sick, nor did he remember his own son ever being this ill. Danny groaned loudly, curling further into himself, his arms tightly protecting his stomach as his nails dug bloody indents on his forearms. He was shivering, his ghost sense going off every few minutes, creating a barely visible burst of cold air biting back against his sweaty flesh. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to forget about the spirits flooding the room. As he tried to forget their voices, their screams, their hands brushing over him as they pleaded for him to look. As they begged for him to help.

Lancer bit his bottom lip as he pressed his hand harder against the 17-year-old’s shaking front shoulder, his other trying to work through some of the knots plaguing the boy’s shoulder blades. He shouldn’t have this many tight muscles, this much stress forced in his back at his age… and the fact that Danny seemed to curl tighter into himself, straining his muscles further every time he took a slow, shallow breath, worried the English teacher more.

The teenager groaned again, clenching his eyes shut tighter as he swallowed quickly, letting out a shaky breath. He stilled, hoping his lack of movement would help ease the nausea stampeding through his body and after taking several slow breaths, he relaxed. He hated being sick… not that anyone loved puking their guts out for hours, let alone in someone else’s home, but his ghost sense always made him on-edge, unable to sleep peacefully or unwind. Every spark of Ghost-breath as Tucker called it, sent violent shivers through him making it harder for his body to heat or cool properly.

The last time Danny remembered being this sick was a few days after the Accident. He’d been on a famous “Fenton Family Vacation,” which was just code for some lame ghost-convention his parents attended every year, forcing their two kids to cram in the RV for a 12-hour car trip to some middle-class hotel. Usually, Jazz and Danny occupied their time exploring the city or making fun of the people who attended the convention. But since the Accident a few days before, for Danny, the family vacation turned into 3-days of complete feverish hell as his body tried to figure out how to survive with only half an immune system, half the person he used to be.

There wasn’t much to remember from that experience except cold showers, endless puking, aimless wondering in some sauna-type hotel as Danny tried running from himself, and the vague memory of leaning against his father several times as his mother coaxed him to take whatever foul-tasting liquid she wanted him to drink. Whether or not his parents actually attended the convention, or if Jazz had explored the same boring city, Danny couldn’t remember. But he remembered his parents arguing, his sister cradling him to her chest on the bathroom floor, and at some point, crouching under the bathroom counter as he forced himself small, trying to hide from the green-eyed, white-haired kid in the mirror or the bloody, contorted people following him. Since then, sickness never came easy despite his immune system being half-dead or ghosted or whatever it was Tucker had told him.

The 17-year-old pressed his face against the comforter, lessening the pain shooting through his temples as the thought of puking again slowly began to evade, and his head welcomed the soft cool fabric cushioning the migraine eating away at his jawline. He was lying at the edge of the bed, curled into what had to be a pathetic sweaty ball, his knees pulled halfway to his chest as he braced his arms across his stomach. This was hell. It had to be. Because only some sick fuck would make him miserable, feverishly grasping what little reality he could hold onto, and so nauseous he couldn’t move, away from his parents with only Mr. Lancer as his only comfort. It was some kind of sick joke.

Danny’s stomach churned, and he swallowed hard, his hands clammy against his overheated skin, trying to will whatever else he could possibly still have in his stomach, back down. He stilled again, breathing shallowly through his nose, feeling his stomach relax slightly. He sighed internally, praying to God he was done puking as heat lit through his veins, and Danny lurched, retching loudly as he shut his eyes, willing for everything to stop. He had no strength left to hold himself up; his mind fuzzy and everything hard to piece together through sweaty nauseating moments. He whimpered as he lurched again, retching as bitter acidic bile spewed from his mouth, running down his chin, and the 17-year-old coughed harshly, tightening his grip across his stomach, and clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to breathe through the rest of it.

He felt something wipe across his chin and mouth, his stomach lurching further at the thought of the humiliation of being so exhausted and sick he couldn’t even be bothered to wipe any of his vomit away from him. Danny whimpered loudly, letting foul saliva pool from his mouth as his stomach heaved, hanging his head off the edge of the bed over what he had been hoping for the past two hours was a wastebasket… but considering Lancer had rapidly become more concerned with other ailments such as the teenager’s temperature or the tight muscles straining in his shoulders and back, the 17-year-old was willing to bet the dark wooden floor wasn’t pretty. He’d also been too scared to look, not wanting the guilt of Lancer having to clean up his vomit added onto the guilt and humiliation he already felt.

“Alright. Easy, Daniel. It’s alright… just let it all up. It’s alright,” Lancer said as softly as he could. He was pretty sure the kid was mostly delirious by now, his fever spiking as sweat layered on top of him, soaked through damp clothes and sheets that were plastered to the teenager’s pale skin. He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore, his face pressed against the edge of the bed while Lancer kept a firm grasp on his shoulder so the kid wouldn’t topple off.

Lancer pressed the disregarded and mostly warm rag from the nightstand against the teenager’s face; forehead, cheeks, neck, trying his best to mop up as much sweat as he could, trying to cool Danny off as much as he could without physically carrying him into the bathroom and forcing him under a cold shower. It wasn’t ideal, and Lancer knew from previous experience with his own son, it wouldn’t be pretty; but considering Lancer was currently in charge of the poor kid, he was willing to do whatever was necessary. He’d just never seen a kid so sick.

Lightening flashed outside as a branch scrapped against the glass windowpane, thunder clashing loudly as rain continued to beat against the old house. The small leak in the roof audible in the kitchen as tiny droplets fell against some crappy tin figurines his wife failed to take in the divorce. Lancer had always hated them… but he didn’t have the heart to toss them… or admit to himself that those stupid scrap metal trinkets were his last thread he had tied to her. His last hope that maybe she’d come back. But it’d been 12 years… and she wasn’t coming back. Neither was Charlie.

Danny coughed harshly, flinching as something cool touched the back of his neck, brushing sweaty sticky hair matted to his neck from his burning flesh. He felt like he was on fire. No, worse… his core was always cold, freezing almost; so, his temperature was lower than any other humans. So, the fire eating away at his muscles and memories, was excruciating.

He coughed again, wheezing slightly as his heart skipped. He had to be breathing faster than normal… hell, he was breathing faster than normal. Air sucked through achy lungs and forced out through a dry mouth as his heart tried keeping up the pace. He swallowed, pulling his knees further to his chest, shivering again as his ghost sense went off, and he opened his eyes slightly, wincing as the dark room spun in a multitude of blacks, browns, and dark purples. Red mixed against almost translucent flesh as faces inched closer, and Danny’s stomach lurched, hard, as his eyes met the contorted and split face of a middle-aged man in coveralls.

The teenager choked, swallowing loudly as his stomach cramped again, barely feeling Lancer’s hands trying desperately to work out the clenched muscles in his back. Blood dripped from the man’s face; his appearance split into two as his smile dropped in opposite directions. Normally, Danny could ignore it; ignore them… but it was worse when he was vulnerable. He couldn’t block them out. And to be completely honest, the past couple of months hadn’t been easy on him.

He and Sam had broken up before they ever began dating. Tucker had maintained under the radar both boyfriends and girlfriends while helping his childhood crush, Valerie, pick off the ghosts Danny had missed. They were still close, the three of them; but Sam had been more distant, avoiding plans with Danny when it was just the two of them… and deep down the teenager knew it was his fault. Everything was.

The 17-year-old bit his lip, blood coating his tongue as he buried his nails further against his flesh. Sam had almost died. She had been willing to sacrifice everything for Danny… and that was something Danny would never have been able to live with. He had fucked up. He had tried to help… and she had almost died. The faint tan scars still visible against her neckline, shining as a reminder in the sunlight and under the florescent lighting in the chemistry lab. Since then, she’d been doing her best to avoid Danny, and Danny let her. He couldn’t face her. He didn’t know how.

That had been months ago, but it still flooded the teenager’s mind every time he glanced in her direction. Every time their hands touched in chemistry… every time she forced a watered-down excuse past purple lipstick. The sigh. That sigh. She had been scared of him that night. He saw it. The fear plagued across her face. The horror. And Danny didn’t blame her because he scared himself nowadays too.

He felt colder than he had been in his youth, emotions concrete against things that troubled his peers. His demeanor seemed further away as he toppled over the puny shadow of his early years. He wasn’t a pushover; Dash didn’t come near him anymore… but he was still outcasted, marked freakshow as newer threats and tougher bullies appeared. Sam had borne witness to things Tucker knew nothing about; she had seen a darker side of Danny that the teenager tried so damn hard to hide. But it was getting harder… the spirits were bleeding through more and more, scratching his mind and haunting him with nightmares that kept the 17-year-old up most nights. Nothing was a comfort anymore. Not even his friends. Not even his sister.

The teenager’s stomach lurched again, and he felt cooper flood his mouth as he bit his lip harder, forcing his eyes shut, cutting off the images around him as the spirits continued to scream. He breathed through his nose slowly, feeling Lancer’s hand grip his fingers as he tried to pry the teenager’s grip baring against his sweaty flesh.

“Wuthering Heights, Daniel!” Lancer breathed, still trying to force Danny’s fingers away from his arm as the small bloody marks from his nails became visible. Despite visibly shaking, and his breathing coming in teeth-chattering waves, Lancer was surprised Danny’s grip remained resilient. Likewise, when Danny had grabbed his wrist in the hallway earlier, when Lancer had startled the teenager, his icy-blue eyes daggered towards him, watching the older man’s actions, his fingers tight and threatening around his wrist… Lancer had been taken aback by the teenager’s strength. Just like now.

The English teacher sighed, giving up and pressing his hand against the 17-year-old’s shoulder once more as Danny lurched, coughing harshly. Concern and sympathy ate away at Lancer’s expression; his own actions feeling clumsy and foreign as he tried to soothe the teenager as much as he could. As much as he remembered. But he hadn’t comforted his own son in almost 12 years… and Danny had become much more distant and independent over the past three. So, the comfort Lancer used to try and reassure the kid, felt awkward, just as the sickened pain written across the teenager’s pale face, looked wrong.

The lights flickered above, and Lancer glanced up, hoping he wasn’t going to lose power as that would add to his already worrying list of problems. Lightening cracked again, a tree in the front yard visible momentarily as a branch fell against the window, rain threatening to break glass, and the distant sound of a tornado signal blaring through Amity Park.

Danny whimpered loudly, clenching his eyes as voices cut through his skull, pounding against the pain enveloped in his forehead and cheekbones, trailing down his jawline and neck. The bed spun despite the teenager being curled into a tight motionless ball, sweat falling from his hairline as the smell of body odor reached his nostrils, and the 17-year-old gagged.

Lancer pressed a reassuring hand against the teenager’s shoulder, murmuring he’d be right back before rising, grabbing the lukewarm rag from the nightstand, and trashcan from beside the bed as he made his way towards the kitchen. After replacing the trash bag and running the rag through cold water, Lancer sighed loudly, pressing his hands against the counter as he watched water droplets forming through the small hole in his ceiling and ping against the metal statues harbored on the bar.

He huffed again, running a tired hand over his bald head as he stared at his reflection in the dark window. The electricity shut off as the lights flickered before the microwave beeped loudly as the powerlines fought against the storm. He didn’t need this. And if there was any type of superior being looking out for him, they’d keep the lights on. At least, Lancer would have one thing going for him then.

He sighed again, glancing towards the direction of his guestroom then back towards his reflection. It was nearing 5am, and despite the sun aimed to rise in an hour, Lancer doubted it would bleed through the storm that had showed no signs of letting up. He wished it would, wished the skies would clear… wished flights would take off because that meant Danny’s parents and sister could fly home. They’d be able to take better care their son… they’d know what to do. Lancer didn’t. He hadn’t been a dad in years… he hadn’t looked after someone in years…

Danny had been miserable all day, this had become evident to Lancer in 4th period as he berated the teenager for once again sleeping in his class. His cocky, sarcastic attitude pushing the English teacher to his limit as he awarded the 17-year-old with another days’ detention. But it hadn’t been until later that Lancer began to notice things he should have seen to begin with. The dark circles, pale complexion, the bloody nose, and red tint painted across sharp cheekbones; his voice, cracked and sudden, as Danny retorted sarcasm aimed to hurt… his stare gazing past whatever Lancer had been teaching, staring at nothing but looking at everything.

Lancer shook his head as he glanced down at the red coffee cup and abandoned bowl of cereal lying in the sink. This had not been in his Wednesday evening plans… then again, there was no way in hell Lancer was going to let the teenager go home to an empty house. Lord knows what could have happened, and the fact that Danny’s temperature had spiked in the night, confirmed any doubts the older man had of letting the kid stay with him until his parent’s plane landed, which had been grounded until tomorrow evening, at best.

The older man glanced back towards his reflection, catching sight of the radar flashing across the television in his living room, silently. The storm was huge, coming from the Gulf, pressure building from the North and East as it moved slowly over Amity Park. And it was only expected to get worse which was ironically befitting. Lancer had played with the idea of taking Danny to the Emergency Room several times within the past few hours; the only thing stopping him was the question of what was more dangerous: Danny’s illness or the storm?

Jack Fenton had argued while on the phone with Lancer that he had half a mind to rent a car and drive back, despite it being a 20-hour drive back to upstate New York. But much to the English teacher’s amusement, Mr. Fenton’s plan had been shot down from his wife in the background, asking Lancer the condition of her son. Danny’s sister groaning loudly in the background, yelling something about embarrassment. But that had been yesterday evening…

And now. Danny couldn’t keep anything down, not even the miniscule amounts of water Lancer had encouraged him to take to prevent dehydration. His fever had spiked from 102 yesterday to 104.8 through the night, and most of the hardened demeanor Lancer had come to expect from his pupil over the years, was vanquished within a matter of hours. The tough, fuck-you-attitude Danny had adapted, was replaced with the youthfulness of his age. Only 17. He was still a kid; scared, alone, and whether he wanted to admit it, trying his best not to cause his teacher any further inconveniences than he already had. And despite Lancer finding the teenager’s attempts admirable, he found himself at a loss of trying to convince not only the teenager, but himself, that he only wanted to help, to make the kid feel better. But Lancer was so far out of his parental element, and he’d never seen a kid so sick before.

It hadn’t taken long once Lancer had settled down for the night, warming his hands against a mug of tea, quietly watching the news, for things to take a turn. Danny had been rather quiet during the drive to Lancer’s house, slumped in the passenger side, forehead pressed against frosted glass and still mumbling in disagreement with whoever thought he needed a babysitter every couple of minutes. The 17-year-old had attempted to convince Lancer he was fine, that he felt better since puking in detention, and his parents were overreacting. And despite sloppily scribbling through his homework, half of which the older man was certain Danny hadn’t even bothered to read, the teenager remained sullen, flushed, barely touching the sandwich Lancer had offered.

After some time spent brooding in a chair at the kitchen table, Danny had apparently concluded his English teacher wasn’t going to take him home anytime soon. He seemed more compliant then, taking up to inspecting Lancer’s memorabilia instead, trying his best to leave everything exactly as he’d found it. The older man had admired how careful the 17-year-old had been when picking up photos or knickknacks, casting weird what-the-hell-is-this glances towards his teacher as he explored.

Something sounded to his right, and Lancer blinked, running another hand over his head as he cleared his mind. Most of the things taking up refuge in the old house were objects ghosted with the memories of previous family, previous love, a previous life. He had never had the heart to take them down… it was creepily comforting.

Lancer sighed, reaching for the water-soaked rag puddling on the counter as something moved in the corner of his eye causing the older man to jump. He turned, facing the 17-year-old leaning heavily against the wooden arch of the hallway, shaking as he pressed a hand firmly against the wall for support, the rest of his lanky form hunched.

“Great Gatsby, Fenton! What are you doing up?” Lancer advanced, his tone slightly harsher than intended causing the older man to grimace. The teenager looked fairly close to passing out, a hand on his stomach firmly, the other grasped at flat wallpaper. Sweat trailing down his flushed face, forming in droplets at the kid’s chin before melting into his sweat-soaked shirt. Red set high across the bridge of his nose, painting his cheeks as he opened his mouth to speak before closing it, confusion setting across his features.

Lancer made a move towards the teenager as Danny stepped back, his eyes wide as they observed the older man cautiously. The English teacher raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward, a sick feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach as the teenager recoiled once more. Lancer cursed softly, pushing his hand towards the 17-year-old slowly, his voice low and calm as Danny reeled back. Lancer hesitated, “I’m not going to hurt you, Daniel.”

Danny pressed against the wall as Lancer took another step forward, leaning a shoulder against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to focus on the swimming interior around him. He couldn’t breathe, the air around him sucked from tired lungs, voices piercing through his head as he raised a shaky hand to his ear, wincing loudly as the spirits around him grew louder. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling his body struggle against the wall supporting him as he jerked away, wincing again as questions pelted him, begging, pleading for his help, for him to look. Look. Look! Just look at what had happened to them!

“Daniel?” Lancer questioned quickly, stepping forward again as the teenager gasped loudly, forcing a hand against his left ear as blood began dripping slowly from his nose, his shoulder slamming against the ugly wallpaper, “Daniel? Danny! Hey!”

The 17-year-old felt something brush against his wrist, and he forced his eyes open against the harsh lights flickering above him. Everything was hot, confusing, mashed together in a nauseating off-kilter vibrancy that hurt; his legs refusing to support him, lungs unwilling to take air as panic took over as he tried to clear his head, as he tried to remember where the hell he was.

He grimaced, sliding against the wall as his legs fought to keep him upright. He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, weird, gone. He swallowed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, fear crossing his face as he pulled back, red sticky liquid coating his fingertips. Tears threatened to spill as he tried to catch his breath. This was his fault. Everything. And now he had blood on his hands. Sam’s blood.

Piercing cut through as Danny pressed a shoulder to his ear, crying out as the man in coveralls laughed, reaching towards him. Danny dropped to his knees, his fingers trembling as they slid down the wallpaper, forcing a picture of a little boy in a baseball uniform to the ground; the glass breaking around it as it smashed against the wood flooring. Tears clouded his vision as he glanced towards the photo, the blonde-haired kid morphing, mirroring Danny’s own reflection through splintered glass.

“No,” The 17-year-old choked, pulling the photo from the floor, glass splinters slicing his trembling fingers as the kid’s gap-tooth smile distorted. He couldn’t breathe; suffocating fear eating away at him as he realized he was gone. The kid in the photo was gone. Taken, dead, his soul split, lifeless as the portal had taken everything from him. He had died, leaving behind grief and broken disappointment. His friend’s hurt, bleeding out on the side of the road as Danny struggled to hold onto any humanity he had. As he struggled to save those he should have left long ago.

Blood dotted the photo, the boy’s face hidden by crimson, and Danny wiped his hand under his nose again, smearing blood across his face. The innocent boy in the photo was gone; he had killed himself in the Accident, left behind by evil contentment and a nightmarish reality that he’d never been good enough. He was broken, built in a sweetness that no longer existed, a black gaping hole where his soul was, under aching ribs, sweaty skin and a tormented, fucked up version of himself. A black pit of beautiful disappointment. An unlovable thing. He had become something unlovable, the portal killing the good and resurrecting the bad, and even that wasn’t worth much. He wasn’t worth much.

Danny gagged harshly, crumpling the photo in his hands as the leftover glass pressed into his palm. The floor swaying under his body as he grasped the wall for any support he could find. He wanted to go back; to be his parent’s innocent little boy again, to forget about the shitstorm around him, forget about the portal, forget about those he’d hurt, the blood he’d shed. But that was unfixable. He was. And unforgivable. He’d hurt Sam; hurt others, the blood of death splattered on what was left of himself, his human self. And in the end, he was the cause of everything; the collector of souls, the Grim Reaper labelled by Freakshow years ago. The bringer of death.

Lancer took another cautious step forward, crunching down before reaching once more towards the teenager as Danny crumpled sideways, slamming against the wall beside him. The older man faltered. Sweat glistened against the 17-year-old’s face as he gulped for air, his breathing harsh and sporadic as he pressed a trembling hand against his chest, eyes towards Lancer, clearly alarmed by his own breathing. He coughed roughly, doubling over as he caught his breath, and Lancer reached towards the kid, his fingers brushing against the sweat-soaked cotton fabric clinging to Danny’s shoulders.

The 17-year-old flinched, shoving his English teacher away from him harshly, wincing again as he pressed his shoulder to his left ear. He fell backwards, his knees failing him as he slammed against the wall, his head smacking against the small hall table. Darkness swallowed him momentarily, his hands shaking as the photo was crumpled tighter in his hands, letting out a strangled cry as the spirits towered over him, their eyes white, pupils missing as they shouted his name.

The electricity failed as the teenager recoiled violently, and Lancer swore the kid’s cold-blue eyes flashed green before the lights flickered back on, the light in the living room broke, glass shattering to the ground as Danny flinched, gripping one of the iron legs of the hall table, tightly. He eyed Lancer, his knuckles white against black, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, his breathing labored as he pulled his knees towards him in an effort to make his lanky form small.

The 17-year-old coughed, the sound hurting his chest, forcing his headache to crawl, spreading across his shoulders. He grasped at the metal leg of the table, yearning for more cold than the iron rod was willing to give as he sucked in breath after breath. He couldn’t think anymore, the heat had taken everything from him, had taken his core, leaving him with a spinning floor, voices flooding in dizzying waves, and the horrifying notion he was surrounded by death. He had died… the portal had stolen half of him, and now, the nightmares screaming at him, had killed whatever he had left. And the photo crushed in his hand was all he had of forgotten innocence.

Phantom had taken everything. And no one knew. No one understood. The beating, aching heart pounding in his chest was a lie. He was soulless; Phantom was soulless. Welcoming the darkness that swallowed the person Danny once was. And everything else, everything he did, was insignificant. His life was insignificant, a short dull buzz, a flicker. Just shit that happened and none of it meant anything. It was the flick on his lighter as he tried cupping his trembling hands against the wind, trying to spark one of the cigarettes he’d stolen from his father; the light fading, barely there; lighting what has killing him. Because no one wanted Danny Fenton. He was just a mask of stupid disappointment, broken and haunted by his past, damaged by unlovable fear. A shell of a person; a shell of a kid with nothing else to offer the world except the blood he was willing to spill. And then, life moved on.

Something pressed against his wrist, and the teenager yanked it back quickly, clawing at the back of his neck with both hands as he pressed his forehead against his knees, trembling as he tried blocking out all of them. Tried blocking out the tormented and lost souls swallowing him. He clawed again at the back of his neck, pressing his head between his sweaty arms as he rocked on his heels.

Something wet splashed against his joggers, barely noticeable against the heat plaguing him as the 17-year-old coughed. He clenched his arms over his ears as he realized he was crying, hard. He felt sick, wrong, the ghost sense no longer going off because he had nothing else left to give. Tears sliding down overheated flesh, meshing against black cotton as loud pleas left his mouth, the taste of blood sitting on his tongue. Something grabbed his arm, and Danny choked, “Please go away. Please go away. Go away. Go away. Go away...”

His parents would be disappointed. His sister would be a wreck. If they knew. Knew he had killed himself years ago; that the innocence that he once had, was gone; eaten away by the things his parents aimed to hurt. Danny Fenton had surrounded himself in a hypocritical tranquility; believing nothing past the Ghost Zone yet praying to God every night that there was a way out, a way away from himself, from Phantom. Because despite the good he’d done, bad followed him further, bathing his body in the blood of those around him. Sam’s screams, her tears, the fear she felt as Danny shred the last remaining hope of becoming more than the ghost killing him.

Some people deserved to die, and yet, he was the exception. An unkillable thing because the Accident had done that for him; and no amount of pills, cuts, stupid mistakes, or blood could take that from him. A cosmic joke of isolated soulless bullshit. The 17-year-old dug his nails harder into the back of his neck, coughing on the blood in the back of his throat as it smeared further down his chin. Tears mixed with the monster he’d become, crushing his heart as the reality of himself, the fact that no amount of water could wash away the pain he’d caused others, was coated in blood on halfa hands. An unholy thing.

Someone laughed, and Danny flinched, digging harder as something sticky coated his fingertips. The spirits were louder, yelling for him, scratching his skin as they tried forcing him to look; to look at their pain, to look at what had happened to them, at what he had done to them. The 17-year-old gagged as the scent of blood, dirt, and rotting flesh overpowered him. This was his fault. Their lives. Their souls. Death had collected those around him, pulling their individualities from themselves as the teenager tried to hang onto his. Danny was drowning in death, spirits shredding him, ghosts pulling him apart molecule-by-molecule as he constructed more damage than his parents ever could.

Air fell between his lips as his lungs refused to take any more. He couldn’t do this anymore. He needed his friends, his family- but they didn’t need him. They needed Phantom. Leaving Fenton as nothing more than a liability, a liar with cops and parents, a part-time substance abuser as he tried killing what everyone needed. Danny refused to move, pressing his body as hard as he could against the wall as spirits crowded him, ripping skin from his body, screaming for him to look at the damage around him, the lives he had taken.

The grip tightened on his arm, clawing at bruised skin as his world morphed and the ground hovered below him. He was pulled up, his body slamming against the spirits pulling towards him, no longer able to cooperate himself. He gagged loudly as he forced his eyes open, meeting the upside-down bloodied split face of the man in coveralls, an elderly woman praying in the corner, the back of her head blown off revealing dark grey matter.

Danny heaved as some of the grey matter fell from the woman’s white hair to her rosary, liquid meshing against him as the man in coveralls slapped another man, his head decapitating slightly, spewing blood across his vision. The teenager groaned as he glanced towards a German couple screaming at each other in the hall, the wall moving as hot fingers braced against the memories etched in the wood paneling and ugly wallpaper. He whimpered as he locked eyes with a small boy reading in the corner; the boy glanced up from his book and waved towards Danny as the 17-year-old wheezed.

Words passed his ears, muttered and useless as the pleas continued to pierce his mind. Red tears of pain he’d caused, spirits forcing him to look; their bodies distorted and warped as they screamed for the souls he had taken. The ones that had left him, a bloody and tormented ending of human life. His death was coming fast, Danny knew. He could feel it. A sudden drop-off from connection, any humanity left, falling moment-by-moment, a punctuating ending happening so involuntary fast as those would soon realize the monster he had become; realize the death he had collected. Danny retched weakly as the man in coveralls forced his head together, pain screaming from his mouth as lips that no longer wanted to meet, met, and hatred ate away at his features before the heat that fell from the 17-year-old washed over them, their bodies disappearing in the flames.

Danny gagged as the smell of menthol and stale sweat filled his nostrils, his head falling back further as a heartbeat echoed around him. Sweat trailing upward as blood fell back down in a disheveled passion, choking any air left, and the teenager’s body gave out. His eyes connected with the flames engulfing the man in coveralls, his disgust bleeding from his eyes as his face separated again before he disappeared in the fire. Danny whispered, “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save anyone…”

His vision failed as he continued floating through those he couldn’t protect… and death swallowed what was left.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Danny had fallen asleep, and relief settled across Lancer’s features as he took another slow sip of his tea, leaning further back in the couch. The teenager had been pretty quiet, but his looks and constant moving had become a distraction to the older man as he tried re-reading Pride and Prejudice. It’d been a long time since there’d been a kid in his home, and Lancer had forgotten how annoying they could be despite wrangling them during class as he desperately tried to pour some type of education into his students.

Lancer set his book down, glancing towards the television as the weatherman showed another map of the storm outside, the pictures flashing silently across the screen as Lancer hit mute. He sighed as rain began to pelt against the roof, the shutters on his windows slamming against the old brick harshly, and thunder echoing around a few other houses in the neighborhood as wind threatened to tear down the old house. It was going to be a long night if the storm kept up and the damage was probably going to cost him a fortune considering his salary wasn’t worth a lot these days.

The teenager coughed, and Lancer turned to see the kid curled at the other end of the couch. His head resting on the armrest at an awkward angle, his knees drawn to his chest as he refused to take any more space than needed, as he tried to force as much distance between himself and his teacher as possible. He shivered slightly, and Lancer wondered whether he should have told his charge to take the guestroom or given him a blanket… or checked for fever. After all, the 17-year-old had been trying to convince the teacher he was fine over the last few hours, but something about him, something about his demeanor told Lancer otherwise.

Lancer sighed again, setting his mug on the coffee table, eyeing the pile of books crammed into the rickety wooden shelf as it slanted forward. He needed to fix it, to buy another one before it fell, or before the weight of the books forced it down. He swallowed loudly as his eyes met the ripped, yellowed copy of Catcher in the Rye, dust coating it as it lay on the top shelf, untouched and abandoned for years. Despite all the books Lancer had reread, all the books he spent his nights enveloped in, that one, that book, he refused to touch… refused to move, to think about, to reread. Memories sat in its pages, crushed between folded pieces of paper from being read over and over, and that was something Lancer didn’t want to revisit, to think about, to remember.

Danny shifted uncomfortably, and the English teacher leaned back again, pulling his book from his lap once more, opening to the page he’d left off on. Considering it was closing in on midnight, Lancer debated heading to bed, but he hadn’t reread Jane Austen in a while. And besides, with the storm raging outside, and a kid he would feel guilty about waking, the older man considered waiting to see if he would need to dig the flashlights from the back of his silverware drawer before making any further decisions.

The ceiling fan sputtered slightly as the lights flickered, and Lancer grit his teeth as the teenager shivered again, his teeth chattered momentarily. Lancer sighed. The situation was uncomfortable needless to say; but Lancer had been a teacher and dad long enough to know that kids were good at hiding things… especially Daniel as he always had some excuse for his tardiness, his absences… his injuries. And a simple cold could turn quickly because most of the students at Casper High were walking petri dishes. Besides, Lancer and Danny’s parents agreed it was best, if the teenager were to become ill, to be surrounded by someone who could look after him or take responsibility for him if he were taken to the hospital seeing as he was still a minor and given the circumstances.

So yeah, the situation was uncomfortable; and Lancer knew that pissed Danny off. But the Fenton’s had gone with Jasmine to visit several Universities, refusing to let their only daughter attend if they couldn’t ensure the campuses were safe from ghosts. An amusing and almost stupid idea but considering Amity Park had seen its fair share of ghosts, not ridiculous. Besides Lancer could understand the Fenton’s concern, their protectiveness over their children as he once had felt it too. He knew what it was like to want to hide your kids from the evil in the world… to protect them, to hurt anything that hurt them, to give them everything. But that was gone now.

The lights flickered again as the screen door slammed against the side of the house. Wind howling outside as the news channel flashed a weather advisory warning across the screen, and Lancer exhaled, setting his book down, and leaning further against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. It’d been a long day… like most. Lancer spent a good portion of his time trying to keep a classroom of 17-year-olds from laughing over the cringing dramaticism of The Mysteries of Udolpho. Considering most of the books he taught were classic romanticism or gothic, the English teacher understood he was faced with a level of immaturity from his students. After all, it was hard for 17-year-olds to fully grasp the concept of metaphorical and real monsters of society.

The other portion of his day was spent grading poorly written essays over whatever topic he had sought to assign his students for the week. Honestly, Lancer had come to the conclusion that the only capable student in his class, after Jasmine Fenton had graduated two years prior, was Tucker Foley. If only his intelligence would rub off on Daniel, Lancer would have very little to worry about. Clearly, the teenager was capable of decent grades as Lancer had always been surprised when Fenton passed an exam or book report. But he seemed more concerned in his peers, in his life outside academics, to give his grades the attention they needed. He wasn’t stupid, Lancer knew that… and considering he came from a family thriving on higher IQ’s than half the city, the English teacher was sure that if Danny put even a little effort in his studies, he’d have no problem climbing to number one in his graduating class just as Jazz had.

But Jasmine Fenton had been competitive; aiming for greatness through academics and challenging those who threatened her perfect GPA. Daniel, however, competed with his teachers, refusing their help as he challenged them, challenged Lancer on a daily basis. Danny’s comments and cockiness had become a problem in his classroom; his antics or clownishness, difficult, as he proved how very little he cared about his grades. And despite his attitude problem, the older man was almost certain the teenager suffered from ADHD, which would explain his inability to focus most of the time and his forgetfulness.

Today had been no different. And Lancer had given the 17-year-old several chances to correct his behavior, letting his less-than-quiet remarks slide under the radar as he continued teaching. But with the constant bickering between him and Tucker, the annoyed whispers from Sam, falling from his seat twice, and the inability to explain what page the class was even reading from, Lancer had had enough. He’d tried to push back, pointing his ruler in Daniel’s direction and explaining there was an idiot at the end of it; but this resulted in the teenager’s sarcastic question of which end? After the laughter had died down, Lancer retorted that the 17-year-old could find out in detention.

Normally, detention was Lancer’s chance to unwind; to bask in the quiet as he encouraged his students to take the time to go over their studies. But today had been different. Not only had the lights gone out more than twice during his 3-hour prison sentence, but Danny had seemed different than earlier that day. Distracted, his eyes out of focus, shivering, and his quiet, slumped demeanor. Usually, the 17-year-old was pouting, refusing to do any real work, or trying to rally those who shared detention with him. But today he just sat there, quietly tracing some type of drawing on his textbook with his finger, his head resting against his desk.

Lancer had let it go for a while… after all, it was beginning to become obvious something was wrong. But into the 2nd hour, the complete lack of motivation, had become annoying, eating away at the older man’s patience. The other students in the classroom had taken Danny’s character as an invitation to abandon their own work for better things such as texting, making paper planes, or horseplay. Through the 17-year-old’s melodramatic and pitiful attitude, Lancer was losing control of his classroom. That had been when things had taken a turn, going from long to endless.

The older man had risen, scowling the other students into compliance as he made his way towards the cause of his current problem. Lancer scoffed when the teenager didn’t even bother reacting to his presence, but continued tracing over the outline of Thomas Jefferson on his torn-up history textbook. And it hadn’t been until Lancer had slammed his copy of Northanger Abbey on the 17-year-old’s desk that Danny reacted.

He jumped, flinging his book from the desk as he jerked towards Lancer, a look of horror crossing his face as he straightened slightly. The older man crossed his arms, a stern look casted down as he raised an eyebrow while the teenager scrambled to grab his textbook from the floor, flipping to a random chapter. Lancer stood there for several minutes, ensuring Daniel was at least pretending to read the words in front of him, and to enforce his authority as the superior in the classroom to his other students. This didn’t last long.

Once he had situated himself back at his desk, opening his book to the last page he’d read, Danny had raised his hand. Lancer raised his head towards his pupil but ignored him and continued reading. After a few minutes, the teenager put his hand down but forced it in the air a few moments later. Again, the English teacher refused to acknowledge his student’s attempt to leave detention. Normally, Danny would give up and ride out the rest of his punishment, partially compliant. Lancer had learned this during the kid’s Sophomore year; refusing to acknowledge or give the teenager permission for whatever excuse he had, was the only way to ensure he completed detention without further incident.

Lancer watched from his peripheral as the 17-year-old dropped his hand, sighing loudly as he continued scanning the words in his barely passible history book; Lancer smiled slightly. Some quiet had passed, relaxing the mood in the room as the older man felt himself beginning to unwind from the day once again. A few seconds later, however, there had been a noise, and the older man had glanced up to see Daniel rushing from the room, his book once again smacked against the tiled floor. The remaining students had jumped, conversing amongst themselves as their eyes watched the open-door slam against the wall.

Lancer grit his teeth, a scowl crossing his face as he calmly rose, placing his book on his desk before glaring towards the remaining students. They straightened, returning to their tasks as the older man exited the classroom, closing the door gently as he traced over the small indent in the wall from the door handle slamming against it. He shook his head as he glared back inside the classroom to his students watching him before looking busy as the wooden door clicked shut.

Out of all his antics, Danny had never defied Lancer enough to leave. And something in his gut told the English teacher this was either a new low from the teenager or an incident that needed attending to. Lancer had hoped all that was needed was a harsh conversation and another week of detention, but as he rounded the corner past the lockers, the root of the 17-year-old’s behavior became evident.

The older man closed his eyes briefly, sighing loudly as he ran a hand over his bald head and made his way towards the kid. Danny was hunched over one of the trashcans in the hallway, retching loudly as his arms trembled slightly, threatening to bring him down from his own weight. He had expected the unpleasant smell of half-digested food, but what Lancer hadn’t expected was the warmth radiating off the teenager as he reached out to grasp his shoulder. Both him, and the 17-year-old gasped, and Lancer stumbled back slightly as Danny pushed him away, slumping against the wall as he slid to the floor.

Danny had landed with a small smack, and he groaned as he eyed his teacher before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. He mumbled something that sounded like a half-assed apology as Lancer inspected his character. Pale, sweaty features set in a flushed undertone as pink ate at his cheekbones. The English teacher ran another hand over his head as he glanced towards his classroom, then back towards his pupil, before turning and advancing towards the class.

After explaining that he felt like cutting detention short due to the storm clouds forming outside, Lancer had gathered his belongings, slinging Danny’s tattered backpack over his shoulder as he crossed through the halls towards the teenager still slumped against the wall, pitifully. He knelt down, reaching a hand out to rouse the 17-year-old, his fingers brushing against his hairline as he made an attempt to check his temperature before the kid jumped. He grasped Lancer’s wrist, pulling it from him harshly, his fingers tight enough around his arm that the older man could feel Danny’s fingernails digging into his flesh.

The teenager’s eyes were locked on his English teacher; the warm blue turning cold and hard as a menacing look crossed his face. Lancer had opened his mouth to speak but closed it a second later as Danny tightened his grip. He’d been surprised by the amount of strength the kid possessed seeing as he always seemed lanky, awkward, and weak. And the threat crossing the 17-year-old’s face sent chills down Lancer’s spine as Danny blinked, releasing his grip before apologizing quickly.

The older man stilled, his eyes glancing over his student as the kid refused to make eye-contact with him. Lancer sighed, offering the teenager a ride home, only to find out that his parents had been out of town for the past few days and weren’t due back until later that evening. And after a very awkward but short conversation with the Fenton’s and finding out their flight had been cancelled due to the oncoming weather, Lancer was driving a pissed off teenager to his own house until his parents returned. Thus, claiming an uncomfortable situation which neither Daniel nor Lancer liked much. But the older man wasn’t a monster… and if a night of letting Danny occupy his guestroom until he was convinced the 17-year-old was fine was what it took, then the English teacher would bare through it.

Lancer sighed again, letting his mind drift as he felt his body relaxing, sleep creeping towards him. Outside, the wind ate away at the chimes and shutters surrounding the house, lightening sparking against powerlines as the lights wavered in and out. Thunder roared overhead, creating a low rumble through the old house as the imminent threat of a tornado loomed in the horizon. But silence engulfed the English teacher as the thought of just resting for a few minutes evaded his tired mind…

It hadn’t been the flinch that woke Lancer, but the loud crash of things falling. Panic clouded his mind as the thought of a tree crashing through the front windows washed over him as he jumped up, cursing loudly. He glanced towards the windows quickly to find them intact and instead turned his attention in front of him as another sound hit him. Heaving.

“Lord of the Flies!” Lancer remarked as he turned his attention towards the sound. The coffee table had been overturned, laying on its side, its belongings littering the floor. And the rickety bookshelf the older man had been wary of earlier, had fallen slightly; its shelves no longer apart of it as the books wedged between non-existent space had crashed to the floor, surrounding Danny as he struggled to breath.

Lancer made his way around the overturned table, crouching down next to the kid as he gagged again, vomit coating his sweatshirt, puddling on the floor below as sweat trickled down his temple. The older man put a steady hand on the teenager’s shoulder, running his hand between his shoulder blades as the muscles in the 17-year-old’s back spasmed between heaves. Lancer let out a slow breath, his voice low and calm, “Alright. It’s alright, Daniel. You’re alright, just get it up. It’s alright…”

The teenager tensed, breathing through his nose lowly as he spit foul-tasting salvia from his mouth, and concentrated on settling his stomach. He felt disgusting, sweaty and embarrassed. He could feel vomit squished between his fingers, and the fact that he had just emptied the contents of his stomach on his English teacher’s floor, mortifying. But considering he had forgotten he wasn’t home, and in attempt to seek out the bathroom, tripped over the coffee table, not only taking it and its belongings down, but falling against the bookshelf, bringing a pile of books crashing to the floor with him, was more humiliating than the acidic puddle in front of him.

Danny closed his eyes briefly, breathing slowly as he leaned back on his knees, scrapping a hand against his mouth and chin. He turned his head towards his teacher but refused to make eye contact because he was afraid of the expression on the older man’s face. The 17-year-old groaned inwardly, setting a hand on his stomach as he let the short silence pass over them; the television cutting off then flicking back on a second later.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Lancer asked softly as he glanced around at the state of his living room. Surely, the shelves or books had fallen on top of the kid when he fell, and given the state of the coffee table, Lancer was betting the kid had tripped over it or something. The splintered shelves could have cut him, or his foot could have gotten caught on the ledge, and injury wasn’t something the older man really wanted to add to his list of problems right now.

Danny was quiet for a while, making brief eye contact with Lancer before looking back towards the floor. He swallowed loudly against the hiccups forcing themselves up his throat and hunched his posture further. He looked downright miserable which didn’t help Lancer’s current situation. The 17-year-old swallowed again before muttering quietly, “Sorry, I’ll help you clean up… I’m sorry about all the mess.”

Lancer sighed, relief washing over him as the kid finally spoke. He ran a hand over his head as he bowed his head, trying to get the teenager to look him in the face, “That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Fenton. Are you hurt?”

Danny froze for a few seconds before meeting the teacher’s gaze slowly. He shook his head, his body twitching slightly as hiccups still resonated through his chest. Lancer nodded, glancing over the kid quickly, looking for any visible injuries but finding none, and ran his hands over his knees before standing, exhaling loudly.

The wind howled outside, and the branches on the tree outside knocked against the window forcefully as Lancer glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall. It was around 2am, which answered two questions: Was he to be expected at school tomorrow and was he going to get any sleep tonight. The 17-year-old coughed gently, and the older man turned his attention back towards the teenager.

“Well,” Lancer started carefully, “Let’s get things cleaned up.”

Danny cast his gaze back towards the floor as he moved to pick up one of the books next to him. Lancer crouched down again, pulling the book from the kid’s grasp, “What are you doing, Daniel?’

The teenager glanced up slowly, “You said to clean-”

Lancer shook his head, cutting the kid off, “The state of my living room doesn’t concern me right now, Mr. Fenton. You, however, do. Despite what you and your friends may think of me, I’m not heartless.”

Danny’s expression shifted as the older man grasped the kid’s arm, pulling him to his feet. He put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder as he swayed slightly, an eyebrow raised as a silent question flashed across the teacher’s face. The 17-year-old swallowed and gave Lancer a weak nod before crossing his arms over his stomach gently, stepping around the chaos as he followed Lancer into the hallway.

He shivered harshly as his ghost sense went off, and his eyes danced over the photos nailed against the ugly wallpaper in the hallway. Pictures of family- of times no one at Casper High knew of; a different side of the English teacher never shown. Danny lingered on the photo of a young boy with blonde hair, a huge gap-toothed smile swallowing his face as he held his ice cream cone towards the photographer. Confusion crossed the teenager’s face as he glanced over some of the other photos, the blonde kid present in almost all of them… and a pretty woman in a few others, posing next to the kid. As far as everyone knew, Lancer didn’t have kids, and he wasn’t married.

His ghost sense went off again, and Danny shivered as he paused momentarily, the photos around him blurring together, spinning into a colorful mess as dizzying fatigue washed over him, his limbs shaking as they fought to bring him down. He made a slight noise as he glanced towards the end of the hall, towards a small boy hiding behind a half-closed door; his green eyes huge and alarmed as he watched the teenager. Danny swallowed, Lancer’s questions floating over him as the boy peered further out the door, motioning for the 17-year-old to follow.

The teenager made an attempt to move, the hallway spinning as the pictures on the wall melted together in an array of sickening colors, and Danny blinked slowly as several spirits began to crowd around him, blood forced from gruesome wounds. A sharp noise escaped his mouth as he glanced back towards the boy, only to find the doorway empty, the door fully open now. Chills washed over him as his knees gave out, and his ghost sense sparked again.

Someone grasped at him, a hand gripping his arm while another snaked over his torse, pulling him back on his feet. Black filtered through Danny’s vision momentarily as his body went limp before he groaned, looking towards his left as Lancer adjusted his grip on his torso, asking something Danny couldn’t grasp. The teenager’s feet dragged against the wooden floor as he struggled to gain his footing, but his legs felt clumsy and foreign. He felt like shit, weird, split into two, leaning heavily against his teacher as the older man led him slowly down the hall, towards the room that’d been previously occupied by a scared little boy.

The 17-year-old hadn’t realized he’d been deposited on a bed until everything stopped moving. The room swaying slightly but no longer spinning in a multitude of nauseating colors. Heat pressed against his body as he glanced over the side of the bed towards the boy he’d seen earlier, hiding behind the rocking chair in the corner. His eyes fixed on the teenager as cold air pushed past Danny’s lips, and he shivered again, turning towards the ceiling fan as his shoes were slipped off his feet, followed by his socks.

He groaned as Lancer pulled his hoodie over his head gently, forcing his arms from the sleeves, leaving him shivering against the warmth dotting against his skin. He was freezing. His ghost sense going off every few minutes, causing his body to ice, goosebumps breaking out over his arms as warmth rushed through him a second later. He blinked slowly, feeling something press against his forehead, and he squinted towards Lancer leaning over him.

“We need to get that fever down, Daniel,” He whispered, running his hands through the kid’s messy black hair. Danny groaned, tuning out his teacher’s movements as he turned back towards the boy hiding behind the chair, hoping that this was as worse as his night got…

……………………………………………………

Heat. Heat blistered against tired flesh and limbs that refused to move… and warmth. Warmth pressed against bruised flesh gently, killing the heat sweating against him, weighing him down in thick blankets. Warmth poured over him, comforting him, drowning the confusion and panic etched in his veins, and Danny suddenly found himself calling to his childhood memories.

“M-mom?” He whispered, his voice barely audible as it scratched past his throat, rough and raw. He swallowed harshly, trying to force his eyes open but finding the task difficult. His body felt heavy, weak, tired… he felt like he had gone several rounds with Skulker… or someone worse.

“Shh, don’t talk, Daniel,” Someone said softly, and Danny blinked slowly, squinting against the dim lights swaying next to him. He shivered as shadows danced around him, and he groaned loudly as he tried pushing himself up. Strong warm hands pressed against his chest, keeping him in place as any strength the teenager had, left him momentarily.

Warmth threatened to pull him under again, and Danny swallowed, his head lolling to his right as he forced his eyes to stay open against flickering, dancing lights. Something pressed against his temple, his cheek, his neck, dampening the fire momentarily wherever the warmth touched, lingering against his skin just long enough to cool the sweat clammed against his body.

Danny coughed harshly as he opened his eyes sluggishly, unaware he had closed them, and he glanced around disoriented, his neck aching from the little effort he put into turning it. His vision wavered slightly, and the 17-year-old groaned as he made another feeble attempt to move only to be stilled by calm hands.

“Just relax, Daniel. Otherwise, I might be obliged to add to your weeks’ worth of detention,” Someone chuckled softly, and Danny forced his eyes open again, “Mr. L’ncer?”

The 17-year-old winced as his voice met his ears, weak and small; the syllables barely leaving his mouth as his tongue felt heavy against his teeth. He swallowed, his mouth feeling cottony and thick as his eyes lazily met his English teacher’s face hovering above him; a stern expression settled on tired features.

The teenager groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly as the room began to spin, leaning his head back as he listened to the silence surrounding him. A quiet popping echoing around him, and Danny squinted, noticing several candles sitting on the counter and next to him, their flames flickering wildly. Confusion crossed his face as Lancer leaned further over him, “The power went out a while ago, so I had to improvise as I couldn’t find any batteries for the flashlight.”

The older man held up the flashlight, shaking it gently as confusion continued to sit on the 17-year-old’s face. He blinked slowly as he tried to piece together everything. But it was hot. And he felt weird, sick, his mind a muddled mess of exhaustion; his headache still pounding behind his eyes. He tried moving again, sitting up slightly before being pushed back down gently as Lancer sighed, “I swear, Mr. Fenton, do you ever listen?”

Danny swallowed, doing his best to understand his surroundings. He sighed loudly, letting his head fall behind him as he slowly connected the dots. He was in a bathroom. More importantly, he was lying in a warm bath, shivering against the heat beaded on his skin. And more embarrassingly, Lancer was soaking washcloths in the water, pressing them against his face, wiping down the sweat that was forming on Danny’s body. It took him longer than he liked to realize his shirt was gone, gentle fingers pressing lightly against his torso, covering every inch of heat that surrounded the bruised and scarred flesh. Whether or not he was wearing further clothing wasn’t something Danny tried to think about, and if he had the energy, he would have protested this level of comfort. This level of embarrassment. This level of weakness. But he felt too tired, too sick, and too hot to care.

Something moved in his peripheral, and Danny peered at the end of the tub to find the boy from earlier sitting on the edge, his gaze still watching the teenager. He bent down slightly, his blonde hair covering his face as he touched the water before jerking his hand back and shivering. Warmth hit him as Lancer washed over his chest, and the 17-year-old squinted, his eyes still watching the boy, refusing to let his exhaustion overpower him.

The boy disappeared momentarily before returning to his spot at the edge of the bathtub, a rubber duck in his hand. He set it in the water gently, pushing it in Danny’s direction before smiling widely, his two front teeth gapped, three missing from the bottom. The 17-year-old stirred, pressing against Lancer’s hands as his eyebrows furrowed together, and he yelled, “Hey!”

The boy jumped from the ledge, fear setting on his face as Danny struggled against his teacher’s grasp. His ghost sense went off, goosebumps breaking out over his naked skin as the boy disappeared, and the teenager let out a strangled cry as he shoved Lancer’s hands away, leaning over the edge, water splashing to the floor as he scanned the hallway for the boy. The 17-year-old gripped the slippery ledge of the tub as he scrambled to pull himself up, water slapping against the ground loudly.

Lancer gripped the kid’s shoulders, forcing him back down as alarm crossed his face. He held the teenager down as the candles flickered, water soaking into his khakis as the 17-year-old continued to thrash. The older man let out a quick breath as he tried grabbing the kid’s attention, “Daniel! Danny!”

The teenager stilled, his gaze moving from the hallway towards his teacher as his nickname left Lancer’s mouth. The older man sighed softly as he felt the kid’s body relax, his grip loosening on the bathtub as the teacher eased him back down. The alarm that crossed Danny’s face earlier, vanishing as confusion set in, his head smacking once again against the back of the bathtub as exhaustion ate away at his features.

He exhaled loudly as Lancer pressed a washcloth against his forehead, leaving it there for several minutes before repeating the action. Danny swallowed softly, closing his eyes against the dimly-lit room as his teacher cleared his throat, “I’m sorry about the circumstances, Daniel. But your temperature spiked again causing you to pass out, and I had no other way of bringing it down quicker. I know it’s uncomfortable. My son freaked too.”

Danny turned towards his teacher’s voice but kept his eyes closed as his mind spun violently. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to understand the information, as he tried to recall the pictures on the wall in the hallway. He coughed, sweat dripping from his hair plastered against his face, “The kid…”

“In the photos. Yeah,” Lancer sighed, wiping across the teenager’s chest again before pressing another rag against his forehead, “He passed some time ago… a car accident.”

The 17-year-old’s eyes opened slightly as he met his teacher’s sad smile before his focus lazily danced towards the hallway. The boy stood there, leaning against the doorway as he fumbled with the zipper on the bottom of his blue jacket, worry flashing across his face as he met Danny’s gaze. The teenager swallowed again, closing his eyes as he turned his head away from the door, sweat rolling down his cheeks as it dripped from his chin.

“Hey…” He muttered softly as he tried calling the boy closer, as he tried to connect the dots. He felt like shit. Even after being extremely sick after the Accident, he didn’t remember it feeling like this. Then again, that had been 3 years ago… and Danny hadn’t really been sick since. But maybe that had to do more with Phantom. Maybe he’d left… leaving the 17-year-old as a barely alive thing. Maybe this was his immune system dying, the other half giving out as it had struggled to survive with half function over the years. Maybe this was the portal killing the other part of him, claiming what it had started.

Danny’s teeth chattered loudly as he shivered against the warmth, “I shou-should call my parents…”

“I assure you they’re fine, Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said calmly, rewetting a washcloth and pressing it against the teenager’s neck, “They’re just concerned, trying to find a quicker way back to New York… unfortunately, the storm is making that difficult.”

The 17-year-old swallowed slowly, confusion washing over him before swallowing again. He coughed, his throat raw and his mouth dry like sandpaper, feeling his mind slipping, the reality he could understand becoming harder and harder to grasp. Everything was muddled, fuzzy, hard to comprehend.

“I- I should call them,” He muttered softly, “Apologize for killing myself… they’re going to be-be so- disappointed in me…”

Lancer froze, alarm flooding through him as he choked. He watched the confusion on Danny’s face melt, his features relaxing slightly as moments passed. The older man turned the teenager’s face towards him, shaking his shoulder gently as he let out a sharp breath, “What? Mr. Fenton- what! What does that mean? Daniel? Daniel- Danny!”

The kid whimpered but other than that, showed no sign that he had even heard Lancer’s questions. The English teacher took a few slow breaths, closing his eyes as he forced the panic back down. Perhaps he had misheard… or the 17-year-old’s temperature was getting to him. Hallucinations and muddled speech were common, so perhaps, that’s all it was. Thoughts of a delusional and feverish mind.

Then again, Danny’s attitude had shifted over the years as he still maintained his cocky and sarcastic demeanor… but darker things lurked over him. Lancer knew the kid smoked from time-to-time, and he had heard from a few rumors that Fenton had become no stranger to weed or alcohol. Then again, the aspect of rebellion was fairly common in teenagers, and Lancer couldn’t see the Fenton’s letting their son get away with anything too serious. But perhaps they didn’t know… perhaps they didn’t know about their son’s newer habits. Or the fights. The grades. The attitude problem. The bruises or scars. Perhaps Danny was hiding his true self from them just as he was from his peers.

But it wasn’t Lancer’s place. Not exactly. Sure, he cared for the kid, as he did for many of his pupils. But Jack and Maddie had become neighborly to him after the loss of his son, and the divorce. They expected Lancer to keep Jasmine and Daniel on the straight-and-narrow when they entered high school… which Jazz was no problem… but Danny. Danny was a different story.

Every direction Lancer took, the 17-year-old steered in the opposite direction. And it seemed even worse the last couple of months. Lancer knew something had happened between Fenton and Manson… and Danny seemed really broken up about it. After all, he had overheard Foley’s comment that the two had begun dating… among other things. And rumors were they’d been caught in the Janitor’s closet several weeks prior… But for the past few months, both Danny and Sam could barely sit next to each other, let alone look at each other. And most of the flirting Lancer had come to expect from the two, was replaced with cold stares, harsh short comments, and feeble excuses as to why they couldn’t work together.

Something sounded behind him, and the English teacher jerked, turning his head quickly towards the hall, squinting against the flame’s shadow dancing over the dark doorway. He scanned the empty area before closing his eyes briefly, breathing slowly through his nose, allowing his thoughts to calm as thunder roared overhead. Most nights Lancer could swear his house was haunted. Haunted by the memories of his past, the memories of his wife, his son… the life he missed every day. But that was ridiculous. An idealization deluded from the minds of Jack and Maddie Fenton… and nothing more.

The lights flicked several times as one of the lightbulbs above the bathroom counter popped, before burning out. The TV in the living room spluttering to life, news blasted through old speakers loudly before silence and darkness once again evaded the small house. Lancer sighed, running a hand over his head, listening to the rain pelt against the roof. Despite it being close to 10am, the storm hadn’t ceased… in fact, it seemed worse with every passing hour which was ironically befitting given Lancer’s current situation, and Danny’s condition.

The English teacher sighed loudly, wringing another washcloth out before pressing gently against the teenager’s forehead, cheeks, and neck as lightening cracked against the house. The 17-year-old whimpered softly, his eyebrows drawing together momentarily before Lancer shushed him, forcing another rag against his forehead lightly. Despite trying his best to bring the kid’s fever down, the older man was more than certain he was doing little to cause a significant change in the teenager’s temperature. Or at least it felt like that.

When the 17-year-old had passed out in the hallway, collapsing against Lancer the second he was pulled from the floor, going limp in his arms as the older man tried his best to hold Danny as gently as he could, Lancer had been at a loss. But when the lights spazzed, the shutter door slamming against the entryway and the power gave out, Lancer was close to both panicked tears and self-consumed anger.

He’d been angry over the situation. Over the power going out, the storm wreaking havoc outside and forcing flights to ground. Angry with his own useless attempts to soothe the teenager he thought he could care for. Angry he hadn’t taken Danny to the Emergency Room earlier and angry, that in spite of everything, the teenager seemed to be getting worse rather than better. Panic had eaten away worry and concern, leaving fear racing through thoughts riddled with questions; his own parental instincts, despite having died long ago, blaring as every sound, every cough, every whimper, and every unconscious groan that whispered from the 17-year-old’s mouth, sent Lancer’s senses on high alert.

Something that had scared Lancer more than he could account for was the fact that the 17-year-old was crying, hard, and his temperature. The moment he was near, the heat melting off Danny was deeply concerning, sweat plastered down pale flesh, dripping in puddles down his face and soaked through hand-me-down clothes Lancer had given him earlier. The teenager had been on the verge of hyperventilating when Lancer pressed his hand against his forehead, worry and panic lacing his tired mind as Danny cried harder, pleading with fevered hallucinations to leave and forgive him.

The thought of which was worse, the storm or Danny’s illness, no longer a debate but a firm decided answer that should have been sought long ago. But Lancer wasn’t sure if he would be able to find his keys in the dark, the rain pounding sideways against the windows as it threatened to break glass… and even though it was early morning now, the sun having rose two hours prior, it was still black as hell outside. Lancer’s own attempts to calm the teenager were futile. He was out of his element… so beyond his own familiarity, and he had forgotten how to soothe his own child. Lancer needed help, he needed another adult, and Danny needed a parent, but the older man hadn’t been a parent in a long time…

…………………………………………………………………………………….

He wasn’t a hero. Because a hero wouldn’t do this. A hero couldn’t. And Danny Fenton was no hero. He’d shed blood through Phantom hands, ghosted in hellish torment as he sat, throne to bodies and souls collected at his feet. Human hands forever red with mortal lives, halfa instincts more dead than alive as Fenton became a facade for Phantom. A mask. A plaything. A puppet of normality and bitter resentment as Phantom was forced to live in a barely alive flesh suit. And now, only now, was the teenager hit with the realization that he was no hero. He’d never been.

He’d been a boy. Stupid and ignorant in childish idealization, playing make-believe, costumed in his parent’s clothes, pretending to be something more. Something better. But he wasn’t. He was joke. A harsh cosmic occurrence of puny humanity and preemptive temperament of selfish actions. Cocooned in the tranquility of his youth as he tried to convince himself that he was more than the blood dripping from halfa hands, that he was the savior of death instead of the bringer. But he’d been stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Insignificant. A joke.

Danny Fenton was a joke of unlovable fear and horrible outcomes. Death followed him. Shadowed by terrible posture and cold features. Sam had fallen for the wrong boy. Had loved the wrong boy. Fenton wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save her… fuck, he couldn’t save anyone. He was just a stupid kid with stupid luck. A false identity born to humanity, mirrored from the reality of Phantom, a messenger, a front for what had killed him years ago. Fake bravery. Fake chivalry. Everything fake.

Ectoplasm oozed down his temple, sliding past his left cheekbone, gathering at his chin as sweat and dirt fell past, splattering against ashen snow and green puddles of forgotten souls. Blood pooling from open wounds, forced between busted knuckles and broken fingers as red stained white. Danny choked, his fingers pressing tighter across Sam’s neck as blood gushed from wounds he couldn’t close… from a death he couldn’t stop. From a love he couldn’t lose.

The purple haloed around Sam no longer vibrant or visible through dark crimson, eaten away by the innocence of her youth, and the immorality dripping from Danny. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a good guy… and Phantom? Phantom couldn’t save her. Phantom couldn’t save anyone. Ever. But Phantom wouldn’t have done this… he couldn’t. Fenton had.

Fingers slipping from flesh, Sam’s necklace pulled from her neck as Danny fought for a better grip, forcing the broken bones in his right hand to bend, to curve, to keep blood from puddling around him… to fix this. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t a way to fix it. A way to fix death. To restore what was lost. What he had taken. What he had always taken. Over and over and over again.

And now, because he wasn’t willing to live without Phantom, Fenton had destroyed the one thing he loved more than anything. The one girl he loved more than anyone. The one girl willing to fight for him instead of Phantom. But that had been a mistake. Sam loving him had been a mistake. He and Sam had been a mistake. An intimate beautiful mistake.

Danny wasn’t the same person she’d fallen in love with. He wasn’t the same person he used to be. He was different. Darker. Quieter. Colder. He was awkward in his own shadow, uncomfortable in a foreign skin as he allowed Phantom more and more control. Danny Fenton was a waste. Danny Phantom wasn’t. He was the thing people needed. But Phantom wasn’t the one Sam had loved. He wasn’t the one she trusted. He wasn’t the one she tried so desperately to save… He wasn’t the one who had killed her.

The fight was over the second it’d begun. Box Ghost had slipped through the Ghost Zone, followed by Skulker and Johnny; the three musketeers of complete failure as they threatened to destroy the state of New York. But Danny had barely broken a sweat. Ghosts were easier now; less challenging than in his youth, repetitive and old, and most of the time, the teenager had bigger things to worry about. Like Spirits. The Veil. The Spirit World. And Vlad. There was always Vlad fucking Masters. A pain in the Fenton family ass… not that Jack would ever admit it.

Snow had started littering the ground in heavy flurries by the time Vlad appeared. Danny had sat on the park bench for hours, waiting for the stupid pointy-haired bastard to make an appearance; after all, Danny had gotten his message the night before when he was pulled into the Veil. He always got the message while in the Veil. He wasn’t welcome. He was never welcomed. And the Spirits collected within made sure he knew it, made sure he stayed long enough to understand the damage he had caused, the lives he had fucked, and the lives he had taken. Many in the Spirit World knew him, but he knew very little about them.

Despite knowing almost everything about the Ghost Zone, the teenager knew almost nothing about the Spirit World. About summoning. The Veil. The Spirits. He only knew how to tune them out, but the older he got, the more his power grew, the harder it was to keep them in check. Too many times had he been caught in public, or with his parents, or his sister, talking, ranting, yelling or even fighting Spirits that refused to leave. He couldn’t block them out. Their voices, cries in the dark, hands pulled through murky water towards his body as he dreamed, screams echoed through restless thoughts. They were getting harder to ignore… harder to kill.

Drugs didn’t really work anymore, barely a dull buzz of quiet whispers, and other outlets were laughable options. Weed made it hard to focus between Fenton and Phantom, his abilities harder to control… and the Spirits had barely left. Ecstasy was great, the screams a distant thought, the Spirits warping into smokes of green, yellow and red; but Phantom disappeared too, refusing to appear for several days after. And Acid… Acid just made the teenager more jittery, more paranoid, more on-edge than he already was.

Vlad had taught him a few tricks to keep the Spirits quiet enough to function before he died. He’d promised to teach Danny more, but his death made that almost impossible. Unlike the Ghost Zone, the Spirit World lacked a supernatural possession; rather turning anyone such as Vlad, normal and human- barely able to summon Danny through the Veil to talk. And Danny? Danny’s powers were pretty much useless inside the Veil, humanity coursed through fragile bones, muscle, and skin as blood beat through a half-alive thing. The teenager could barely summon, barely survive a night in the Veil, of being pulled through, forced out-of-body through airless lungs and the stillness of a barely beating heart.

In the Spirit World, the teenager was human. So very human. And so very vulnerable. A War progressed through the Veil, the Spirits capable of darker, more sinister realities than Ghosts such as Skulker or Freakshow could ever procure. A world of Death. True Death. The promises of the Ghost Zone vanquished through shreds of paper-thin souls of victims to the War. Death in the Spirit World meant no Ghost Zone after. No other World beyond. No connection or tie back to humanity. To the Human World. Nothing. Just black. Just…

The 17-year-old’s ghost sense had been going off for hours; his teeth chattering as he pulled the thin green jacket closer, cursing Vlad for taking his sweet time. To any untrained individual, the teenager appeared to be alone… but Danny was never alone. Not anymore. His shove through the Veil on his 16th had killed any isolation or solitude he had. They were always there. Always watching. Always with him.

The teenager grit his teeth as he smacked his head against the bench behind him, staring towards the grey sky as white dust fell in clumps, blanketing Amity Park… and most likely, the rest of New York. The weather had been unpredictable lately; a chaotic shitshow of indescribable patterns, something his father chalked up to some weird readings in the Ghost Zone. Despite never really seeing a ghost, his parents still obsessed over them, inching closer and closer to diving into the portal with each passing week. But Danny, Danny wished he’d never have to see another fucking ghost in his life.

More and more of the transparent bastards had been slipping through the portal lately. Part of that was Danny’s fault. The other, unknown. Valerie had helped pick up the slack, along with the Fenton Duo, but the teenager had more important things to worry about like Spirits. The harder they were to ignore, the more of them appeared… and they could touch him. Hurt him. Kill him… the scars plastered against his right ribs should be evident enough to speak to their danger. He’d barely survived his first trip through the Veil, and Vlad kept pulling him fucking through… mainly because summoning wasn’t something the 17-year-old had mastered yet. And with Vlad dead, Danny doubted if he’d ever actually be able to master summoning… leaving no hope for resurrection.

Something kicked against the teenager’s red converse, and Danny shot up quickly, expecting Vlad to be standing over him. A smile crawled across his face as his eyes met Sam, her black hoodie blowing viciously against the winter air, small specks of white clinging to the fabric. She kicked his foot again, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Danny smirked, forcing his hands in his pocket, his right hand clamped around the red lighter he had stolen from his dad’s secret stash. Whether or not Jack Fenton had noticed a few of his smokes were missing, the teenager would never know. After all, if his father ended up confronting him about it, then that meant Jack would also have to come clean to Maddie about smoking… something he supposedly gave up a few years after Danny was born.

Sam slumped down next to him, her shoulder hitting his as Danny turned towards her, smiling. Sam rolled her eyes, her purple lipstick twisting into a grin as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She sighed, “So, I take it Vlad hasn’t shown?”

The 17-year-old shook his head, before clearing his throat, “No.”

“That’s pretty unusual for him, isn’t it?” She asked, pulling her head up as wind forced her hood down, short black hair flying chaotically. She glanced in Danny’s direction as he flicked some snow off his jeans. He hadn’t really thought about Vald’s behavior- about his pretty punctual habits, but now that it was mentioned, it was rather worrisome the older man hadn’t shown yet. Especially given he seemed rather paranoid the night before. But surely, the older man would have said if he was in danger.

Danny shrugged his shoulders, meeting Sam’s gaze, biting his bottom lip. Pieces of ice clung to her hair, freckled across her face, and the 17-year-old hesitated, before brushing his thumb across her cheek carefully, wiping away some of the fallen snow. He paused, his fingers pressing gently against her jawline, following the curve softly before Sam pressed her hand over his. Danny froze, warmth flooding his face as he refused to advert his gaze.

Sam had been weird lately. She’d been acting weird… almost feminine… which was weird for both Tucker and Danny as they had always seen her as one of the guys. But between a few awkward non-date dates, a few fake-out make-outs, and being caught half-naked in the Janitor’s Closet a few weeks prior when Danny had phased through the wrong room after a fight; Danny was finding it harder to act normal around her. And then there was the Annual Winter Dance last month which neither Sam nor Danny refused to acknowledge, involving some sloppy drinking, heated kissing, and one awkward morning after at the Fenton household as Danny tried sneaking Sam from his room only to be caught by his sister.

Since then, Sam had become more… Well, it was hard to explain because Danny was pretty sure he’d become more of it too. Every moment he was around her, it seemed like he had reverted back to his weird, awkward, clumsy demeanor. He couldn’t talk around her anymore, let alone act normal anymore. His ghost sense unpredictable, his powers uncontrollable as his body forgot how to be him around her. He couldn’t eat or sleep and paying what little attention he normally did in class, unbearable. He couldn’t get Sam out of his head. Her purple lipstick. Her laugh. Her hands clasped around his. Her mouth… Her. And it was driving him insane.

Mentioning it to anyone was out of the question. Tucker had them married in 9th grade. His parents were too hyperactive and weird to be able to deal with their only son dating- let alone his sister’s recollection of her very awkward first date that involved more of Jack Fenton than Danny wanted to picture. And Jazz? Jazz had freaked when she had caught Danny and Sam together the morning after the Annual Winter Dance, forcing both teenagers to attend a lecture involving responsible actions, so asking Jazz for advice was out of the question. Honestly, Danny had found some console in Vlad, but that bastard’s advice was wishy-washy and outdated.

Sam’s fingers brushed over the rough scars on his hand before she trailed up his arm. Her hand hesitating on his shoulder before cupping the back of his neck, her fingers tussling his hair softly. The wind whooshed past, snow raining over them as Sam met the 17-year-old’s gaze, a small smirk painted across purple lips. Danny shivered slightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek again, “I-”

“Shut up,” Sam cut him off, pulling herself from the bench as she pressed her lips against his, pushing the 17-year-old back slowly as he dropped his hand from her cheek, trailing down her shoulder slowly, arm, back. He inhaled loudly, a hand pressed against the small of Sam’s back, the other pressing her closer to him as she kissed him again, one of her hand’s slipping underneath his shirt. Cold fingers pressed against the warmth on his back. Black nails scrapping gently over scarred flesh, fingers through black hair, and Danny’s hands dragging her closer. Sam was driving him insane… but maybe this time, they could acknowledge it… maybe this time, he could tell her how he really felt.

Maybe this time he could tell her he couldn’t get her out of his mind. That he couldn’t concentrate around her, he couldn’t get that night at the dance out of his mind… that she made everything better, made everything okay. He needed her like he needed air. She was a reminder that he was still alive, that he was still human, that he was still more than Phantom. Because she seemed to want him more than Phantom… She liked him. Not Phantom. And that- that was all Danny ever wanted from someone. From her…

Her nails scrapped harder against his back as Sam straddled him; her hair flying in the wind, covering her face, smacking against Danny’s face comfortingly. His hands gentle as they trailed down the rest of her back, her thighs, holding her steady against him. Her lips forceful against his, nails marked against skin, her heart pounding against his. She breathed deeply, “Danny…”

“Well, isn’t this nice,” Someone sneered. Danny pushed Sam off him gently, jumping to his feet as he pressed Sam behind him, his stance protective as he met the stranger’s gaze. The 17-year-old watched as a woman stepped forward, a smirk on her face as she pushed some of her long blonde hair behind her ear. She eyed the 17-year-old, sizing him up as she walked around the small bench. She scoffed, “They said the halfa was young, but I never would have thought this young… Tell me, handsome, do you even know how to tie your own shoes?”

Danny tensed, “Do you want to find out?”

The woman laughed loudly, circling them once more before standing a few feet from him, “Oh, and that wit. I bet you’re a troublemaker, uh?”

She crossed her arms, straightening her posture until she was eyelevel with him. Her skin almost translucent against the white ground, blood dotting against her neck where a necklace should have been. Her bright pink and blue jumpsuit standing out against the snow, fitting the ideal clothing for an 80’s teenager… her blonde hair in half-buns, purple triangle earrings dangling from her ears. She laughed again, shaking her head, her red lipstick twisting slightly as she peered towards Sam.

Sam had risen from the bench, pulling her hoody back over head as her hair still fought against the wind. She forced the sleeves past her hands, her fingers intertwining gently with Danny’s as the 17-year-old stepped forward, “Where’s Vlad?”

The woman cocked her head, her smile offsetting as she held up her hand, inspecting her chipped blue fingernails, “I wouldn’t worry about Grandpa anymore. He’s been taken care of.”

The teenager swallowed, dropping his hand from Sam’s as he took another step forward, his hands burning slightly as Phantom threatened to appear. Danny swallowed, “What did you do to him?”

The woman laughed again, shoving her hands on her hips as she faced the 17-year-old again, “You’ve become quite the gossip in the Veil. Did you know that? Everyone talks about the halfa; the teenage boy with a hitlist bigger than… well… for decency, think of someone historically bad. The merciless angel. The bringer of death. The red. You could say you’ve become very popular amongst Spirits… and to hear, the little ghost boy could be harmed,” She paused, clasping her hands together as a smile painted her face, “Well, that was like Christmas morning.”

Sam reached for Danny’s shoulder, her fingers gracing over the fabric of his hoodie as he stepped forward again, “What did you do with Vlad?”

The woman smirked, “Me? No, honey, I’ve done nothing. See, I don’t really care for the creepy-uncle-lotion-in-the-basket types. You, however, are much more interesting. Much more powerful than Vlad would be… I can feel it. Radiating off you like the wind around you. It’s beautiful… And we can hurt you. We can touch you. Something those pathetic airbags in the Ghost Zone could only dream of. And believe me, pretty boy, there are many in the Veil eager to show you their real power. Eager to walk this Earth again… all we need is the blood of the halfa.”

“Fuck you!” Sam yelled, stepping in front of the 17-year-old, her finger’s gripping Danny’s wrist. Sam took a step forward, her stance tense, her hood down as wind washed over her. Snow beading in black hair, melting down her face as hatred flashed across her features. Her grip tightened around the teenager’s wrist, protectively; and Danny swallowed softly as he realized she wasn’t about to let go.

The woman stepped forward slowly, smirking again as she chuckled, “Call off your guard-dog, Daniel. I have no intention of killing you today… besides, in order for us to be reborn, you have to come to us willingly. Which I give you… a year before you enter the Veil for the last time.”

Danny scoffed, “Unlikely.”

He shivered as he met the woman’s gaze, her smile hiding something that scared the teenager more than the threat. An understanding… knowing. She knew what went through his mind. What he thought about, how he thought about himself… The way she looked at him, the way she smirked towards him, sneering… she knew. About the drugs. The blood. About the recklessness. She knew what stimmed through a tired mind in the nightmarish reality of Fenton from Phantom. She had to know… but the only way she would, would be- Vlad.

Danny glanced down for a second, swallowing loudly. Him and Vlad had had their differences, but they seemed to work it out over the years… so would Vlad really tell people about him? Would he really betray his secrets to other people, well, Spirits? The teenager had confided in him over the years. Not about everything… but about himself, about how he had come to hate Phantom. How he had become forced to live with Phantom’s pain and torment. How he felt, as the years past, and he let Phantom have more power, he could feel reality crumpling around him. Crumpling in, and slipping through his fingers, through the cracks created by Phantom, opened and birthed through the Ghost Zone and Spirit World. How it felt like he was being drained… that his humanity was dying. Would Vlad really betray him like that? After all this time?

The woman scoffed again, “Perhaps. But I’m willing to help you out… give you another nudge in the right direction.”

Confusion crossed the 17-year-old’s face as he stepped forward again, only a few feet from the woman as she crossed her arms, raising her head. She shook her head slowly, “I can see you’re confused, so I’ll make it simple for your stupid hormonal teenage brain.”

There was a flash, and Danny dropped harshly, his hands and arms burning as he felt the shift starting to take over. Phantom gaining control as the Fenton canister, forgotten on the park bench, exploded loudly, and the teenager pressed his burning hands against the snow. Cold braced against his fingers as he looked up, wiping away some green ectoplasm that litter across his body, blood dripping down his chin slowly from a cut on his upper lip. His eyes flashed green as he let Phantom gain control, his body burning slightly as he shifted, the aching pain that plagued him, gone as Phantom took over.

Within a second, he had the woman pinned against the tree, a smirk twisting against his lips as she struggled pathetically. He huffed, his tone cocky as he tightened his grip, “You missed.”

The woman hesitated before laughing loudly, snapping her fingers as Phantom reverted back, forcing Fenton through translucent skin as he was shoved back into his teenage body. Sweaty fatigue washed over him as she kicked his leg, slamming him against the ground harshly, pinning him against the snow. The 17-year-old squirmed, trying to coax Phantom out, trying to shift but finding the task difficult, his fingers tingling and sparking green but refusing to change.

The woman snorted, grasping his hand in hers, smiling down at him as her blonde hair brushed over his chest. She pressed her fingers between his, humming softly before jerking her hand back, bending Danny’s fingers as she clawed at his palm, bones cracking, causing the teenager to scream loudly as he fought against her. After a few seconds, she let go as wind rushed past them, and she pressed her chest against his, stroking his hair back gently. She bent down further, her lips brushing against his ear, “I wasn’t aiming for you, honey.”

The 17-year-old twisted; his head jerked towards Sam as he tried forcing the woman from him. Blood splattered against the snow as Sam fell, her face pressing against the ice, her hand, bloodied and shaky, as she reached in Danny’s direction. The teenager cried loudly as Sam’s hand dropped in the snow, her body going limp as red bled through white. The woman pressed her fingers against the 17-year-old’s cheek as he screamed again; his hands and arms burning as heat clawed through his chest. Sam opened her mouth, purple lips parted but no words came, only tears trailing down pale flesh before green eyes shut.

The woman laughed softly, digging her nails painfully into Danny’s cheek and chin, prying his eyes away from Sam and towards her. Rage ate away at his features, his skin scorching against Phantom as green began to steam off him, his eyes flashing bright green before darkening as his eyes met hers. The woman tightened her grip as green smoke continued to envelope them; a smirk plastered to skin pulled back too tightly as she pressed her clammy forehead against his, gently. She took a deep breath as Danny struggled against her, his skin itching as black ectoplasm began to drip from his nose and ears, running down his face before smacking against the ground. Cold soaking through his clothes as his skin began to burn away, green fading to black, and black sparks radiating from his fingertips as the woman pressed her lips against his.

The teenager jerked away, his gaze meeting Sam’s stilled face. Her features silent, and Danny choked again as he yelled her name, fighting against the woman’s grasp again. Her nails dug once more into his flesh, pulling his face back towards her as black tears fell down his cheeks in thick trails. She thumbed some away slowly before licking the liquid from her thumb and smirking, pressing her chest once again against his.

“Such power. Such a waste,” She bent down further, her lips pressing against his temple, “Two down… See you in a year, lover.”

Pain seared across his chest, and the 17-year-old screamed as her hand pressed over his heart, burning against flesh as the greenish black swallowing him, ceased. His eyes flashed back to blue as he choked, grasping towards her hand before realizing she was gone. His hand pressing over the bloody handprint stained against his shirt as the pain slowly began to evade, and he twisted around, stumbling to his feet as he forced himself towards Sam….

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

Oooh could you do a kenma sickfic?So on some day the Nekoma VBC had a training match quite far away. So kenma is sick and he forces himself to go to that traing match but he couldnt? Even walking was hard for him at that state, he was nauseous , dizzy his stomach and head hurts like crazy. He did think if going to school. So he got dressed and skipped breakfast because he was too scared if it went up. While he was walking to school his stomach was growling and a coughing fit was coming... time skip because yes and I dont want to be too detailed because you wouldnt have your own ideas :)! So he didnt go to the volleyball practice match because he couldnt handle the pain, he did go on the bus but went off before the bus even moved because of vomiting or because he was in a lot of pain ? I hope kuroo doesn't run to him and takes care of him because that's like all the fics I read lol, Anyway ! Hope you are doing great!!! Remember to take breaks, drink water !! Bye :D

Hi! First request out of six, done! Just a headsup, I changed the story a bit towards the end of your request because it made more sense to me to make it happen in another way (and also to make it a little longer), I hope it’s fine. Thanks for sending the request, let me know what you think! You can find the CWs in the tags (OCT 16)

Timing should be his thing, Kenma thinks. He’s always thought that, as a setter, having good timing is fundamental. He’s always taken it for granted, even.

But life must like to prove him wrong. At the worst times, too.

The young athlete is fairly sure that nobody would bite his head off for skipping the training match, and that his parents won’t be mad for the money that would go to waste, were he to stay at home instead.

The training match is going to be held in another cityー why would anyone willingly leave Tōkyō, anyway?ー so coach Nekomata and coach Naoi had to make arrangements to find the team a place to sleep for the night, since going back and forth in one single day would have been far too exhausting for everyone.

And Kenma’s known about this match for months. He was almost somewhat thrilled to play, until this morning.

He places a hand over his stomach, gingerly. He’s been sitting on his bed for an hour straight, trying to will his body to move and get up already. But something hurts, and Kenma’s not so sure that he’s going to be able to get up and even only make it to the bathroom without puking or passing out from the pain. Or both.

He rapidly tries to recall what he has eaten in the past twelve hours, but nothing seemed unusual, nothing smelled off, nothing tasted odd. He can’t think of one single thing that might have made him feel like death warmed over.

Kenma’s guts twist, a low growl erupts from his stomach, and he’s one-hundred percent sure that his hand, still resting on his belly, actually moves when his insides do.

A quick glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table makes him snap back to reality, abruptly so.

Shit…!

He only has fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before he has to leave. His bag is packed, his uniform is on his desk’s chair, ready to be put on, but he’s yet to have a shower today, and he should probably attempt to eat a little something. While he doesn’t normally get carsick, he’s always wary before matches. Important ones, especially.

Kenma rapidly gets up, regretting the action as vertigo almost makes him topple over, right on top of his brand-new computer screen. He catches his footing and barely avoids the disaster on time, but it takes him more than he’d like to admit to catch his breath. His eyes are squeezed shut, one hand gripping at the cushion of his gaming chair for dear life as he prays for the world to stop spinning.

It does, eventually.

There’s only so much time for the setter to brush his teeth, put his uniform on and leave in a hurry. He gags a few times, like when the toothbrush touches his tongue, or when he bends down to put his shoes on and his stomach contents threaten to spill at his feet. His mother shouts at him from the kitchenー right, she’s staying at home todayー to at least grab a snack with his bentō, but he doesn’t, waving his hand lazily as he quickly excuses himself.

- - -

He’s not sure how he makes it to the bus in time, but he does. By the time Kenma arrives in front of the school gate, where most of his teammates are chatting cheerfully, he’s convinced that he’s definitely going to tell the coaches he’s not coming, and walk back home.

If only walking wasn’t so painful to him, in this state.

Beads of cold sweat run down his forehead, and he blesses the face mask he’s wearing for hiding his agape mouth, panting and gasping after walking at a pathetically-slow pace for only a few minutesー his house isn’t that far from Nekoma High, at least.

“Hey, Kenma’s here! And before the bastard, too, so someone owes me 1’000 yen!” Yaku chuckles, and Yamamoto hands him some money, practically throwing it at him, an annoyed look on his brooding face.

Everyone laughs, coach Naoi’s voice unheard over the sound of teenagers messing around.

Kenma doesn’t even have the strength to roll his eyes or smile. His teammates greet him, and while he’s been getting better at physical contact, he wishes that they would stop touching him so much now. He feels gross, sweaty and shaky, hot, and the hands that pry and punch lightly are a much more significant threat to his dignity than they believe.

One wrong push and he’s going to burst, Kenma just knows that.

He smiles, forcedly, and prays for the agony to end soon.

- - -

The bus ride is worse than he’d thought it’d be. The traffic is a nightmare, and they’re forced to stop not once, but twice, because Inuoka’s feeling ill due to his hellish motion sickness.

Kenma forces himself to look away, buried in his jersey as he sits in the very back of the bus, music in his ears to distract himself from the growing sensation of discomfort in his lower abdomen. Kuroo’s insistent as ever, and Fukunaga’s peak entertainment makes everyone but Kenma laugh uncontrollably for the whole duration of the bus ride.

It lasts six hours, give or take.

The pain doesn’t abate. Kenma doesn’t manage to fall asleep, not once.

- - -

“Okay, let’s start warming up!” coach Nekomata says, with a broad smile on his face, “Ten laps, and be sure to alternate between left and right arm’s rotations, nice and slow. Do your best, Nekoma!”

The cheer that erupts from the team almost knocks Kenma off his feet. He can’t take it anymore, he just can’t, and now that he’s so far from home, from his warm bed, from his comfort itemsーof course he’s forgotten his console at home, of course he didー he feels like he might start crying and stomping his feet at any moment.

And he almost does when, after the second or third lap, burning bile tickles the back of his throat and goosebumps coat his skin as his stomach rolls.

He blinks once, twice, eyes glassy and unfocused, vision blurry, greying around the edges. Panic seizes at his already-upset guts, and his legs shake when he rapidly makes his way back to the benches, basically dropping next to them. He grabs his water bottleー he hopes it’s his, he can’t see well, he’s not too sureー and unscrews the cap, not without any difficulty.

His hands shake, he’s jittery and feels so, so cold. Logically, Kenma’s aware that the gym is warm, and that he’s been moving enough for his body to warm up a little, at least, but he can’t ignore how shivers run down his spine.

“...nma-kun, are you okay? You look awfully pale.” someone asks.

He looks up, the whole world blurring in and out of focus in rapid succession when he raises his head to meet coach Naoi’sー confused? Angry? Annoyed?ー expression. The boy doesn’t even reply, question already forgotten.

Instead, he gets up on buckling knees and makes a run for… somewhere. Frankly, Kenma doesn’t really know where he’s going, and he doesn’t care. He needs air, he needs to sit down, he needs toー

He falls down, palms flat on the floor as he spills his gut, retching loudly onto what he believes is the asphalt of the parking lot, judging by the newfound ache in his hands, bleeding slightly.

He vomits again, the second bout even more violent and vile than the first one, making acid spill from his nose and trickle down his chin, the smell acrid and nauseating, of something rotting. His eyes sting, and not only because of the foul scent, no. Fat tears stream down his face, and he pukes again, for the third time, the ache in his guts not dissipating one bit.

He cries, blubbering and sputtering. Catching his breath seems impossible, his breath is far too ragged and shallow to provide any consistent oxygen intake at this point.

Somewhere along the way he must have dropped his bottle, because when he blindly fishes for it at his sides, he doesn’t find it. That makes him cry even harder, snot and tears staining his face alongside chunks of vomit and acidic bile that burns his throat.

In the distance, he believes he hears someone’s voice.

But when the siren of sleep calls his name, inexorable and tempting, Kenma lets his eyelids drop, and collapses to the ground, blissfully asleep.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Sidebar Nonsense

This one follows up ‘Memento Mori’ ... There’s cancer and angst and light humor and tears ... all rolled into one ...

Our Moment Chapter 1: Five Words Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense

@today-in-fic @laurenclare88

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Scully held it together as she walked away, slippered feet silent in the 5am halls, robe tied tight, shoulders held high. She could feel his eyes following her so she didn’t give in until she turned the corner. Immediately, she tilted against the wall, three deep breaths in, trying to keep the vomit from rising past the point of no return, from landing in a splashing nightmare all over the linoleum floor. Her head felt like it was about to split, sweat breaking out on her cold skin, running down her back and between her breasts. Gathering strength and wondering how the hell she made it through sitting with Penny and through her hallway confessional with Mulder, she got back to her room, cold water on her face and more deep breaths as she gripped the edge of the sink. Calming her stomach enough to be able to get dressed, she rested against the bed, exhausted to the bone, the last few days a whirlwind nightmare of medication, loss, fear, and pain. She wanted nothing more than to go to sleep but not about to settle back on the bed behind her, she stood, got her bearings and went to meet Mulder.

She knew he’d be outside her door, waiting. He wouldn’t come in without knocking but four years together told her he would be standing guard whenever she had finished packing and, true to form, he held out his hand to take her bag. “Do you have to let anyone know your leaving?”

Lying through her teeth because she couldn’t take the thought of discharge paperwork and follow-up care, “yes, I took care of it last night.”

He saw through the lie but didn’t question her about it, instead aiming his partner towards the elevator, “do you think you can handle the ride home? It’s going to be about four hours.”

The thought of that had her shutting her eyes, leaning on the jamb of the elevator, “four?”

“At least.” All the knowledge in the world couldn’t have prepared him for just how tired she looked. She’d looked tired as she walked away from him twenty minutes earlier, but now, she looked about to drop. Her face had been pale, the skin around her eyes a light gray smudge but now, she was white and sweaty, eyes glassy, the surrounding gray had deepened to dark and foreboding, “we can get a hotel here for the night, if you’d like? I’ll even spring for a good one, my treat.”

Shallow breath in, she exhaled slowly, gathering every bit of strength she could find, before meeting his gaze, “I’d like to go home, please.”

Willing to do anything she asked, he nodded, “then let’s go. I conned the security people to let me park by the doors.”

Never, ever, had she been so happy to see a rental car in her life, to lay the passenger seat back fully, to feel Mulder drape his coat over her, to give one heavy sigh before shutting her eyes, to fall asleep before they hit the freeway.

She didn’t move until he pulled up to her front door, having slept through gas station stops, bathroom breaks, and McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches consumed with surprising gusto. Getting out, he moved to her side of the car, opening the door, coaxing her awake with a soft voice and a gently shake, “hey, Scully, we’re home.”

Feeling like lead, she had trouble comprehending words, turning her head in his direction and groaning lightly, falling back to sleep even as she opened her mouth to form a curt ‘go away’. Several attempts on his part later, she was upstairs, standing in the middle of her living room, wondering where to go next.

He would be worried about her after he got her to bed. Moving her down the hall with hands on arms, he went to turn her right into the bedroom, but she fought him suddenly, turning left towards the bathroom, skidding on the rug as she dropped, kneeling in front of the toilet and letting loose. Stunned, he watched her back arch, knuckles turn white as they gripped the seat, trying to keep herself from tipping over or tipping forward.

What the hell was he doing?

Dropping her bag, he took two strides to get beside her, then another to step over her, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, hand now gently on the back of her neck, “you’re okay.”

The moment he touched her, she said his name, garbled and graveled, using precious moments between puking jags to call to him.

Second round was bad, third had her back cracking from top to bottom. Finally quieting after round four, she settled her head on the toilet seat, Mulder’s leg against her side the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor. Reaching over her head, he flushed one last time, before twisting, grabbing a washcloth to wet in the bathtub. Wringing it out, he first held it to her nose before, “I need you to sit back or this is never going to stop bleeding.”

She was in some kind of limbo at the moment, hearing words and obeying commands but not comprehending a damn thing. ‘Sit’ sounded familiar so she tilted back, the world skewed sideways as she felt Mulder move her hand to the washcloth with an order to ‘hold’ then felt his hand on her back and legs, scooting her against the wall. Once there, solid surface keeping her upright, more words drifted in but choosing to ignore them, she instead felt him wiping her nose, her sweaty face and neck. The water was warm but it chilled her, tile leeching heat from her, replacing with shiver-inducing cold. Feeling a towel go around her shoulders, then his arm, she assumed clean-up was done and saying his name once more, she passed out against his shoulder.

She drifted back in when she heard his voice echoing, “okay. Thank you.”

‘Hhhmming’ sound in her throat made her presence known and Mulder rubbed her arm, hand drifting up to run a thumb along the edge of her ear, over her temple, “you back?”

Her head was now in his lap, the floor still cold beneath her hip, “what?”

“You checked out for a few minutes so I called the hospital, rustled up somebody we know and asked them if I needed to bring you in.” Thumb now methodically stroking her jawline, “but you’re awake now and Genevieve said that this is a common side-effect and you just need to sleep some more. She also said to call if you were still nauseous and they’d give you something.” Meeting her side-eye staring up at him, “how’s your stomach?”

She had to think about it but, “okay for now. My head hurts and my eyes.” She’d been looking up at him but it hurts, “why do my eyes hurt?”

“You blew a few blood vessels. You look like something out of a sci-fi flick. They got kind of bulgy, too. I’d like to never see that happen again, if it’s okay with you.”

Banter was not cutting it right now. “Can you help me to bed and get me some Tylenol, aspirin, mallet, please?”

He would curb the small talk until later, “yup. Hold on.” It took some maneuvering but soon she was sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping tightly the mattress edge, wondering how long she could keep herself upright.

Not long but as soon as the slither to the ground began, Mulder was back, drugs and water in hand, “whoo, hang on.” Catching her by the upper arms, he kept one hand on her while he gave her the hastily put down and semi-spilled water and pills, “take these and then we’ll get you in some dry clothes. You’re still shivering.”

“Why am I wet?”

While groping for pajamas at the end of the bed, “you sweated right through them. I could have wrung a bucket of water out of you when you were done.”

She would be embarrassed by that later, and handing him back the empty glass, she took a deep breath, “turn around so I can change but don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Doing as asked, he stood against her, back of his thighs against her bent knees, keeping her on the bed as she slowly changed, arms too heavy to hold up for long. Pants were more difficult but she allowed to help with those, Mulder tucked her in bed a few minutes later, her eyes already blinking shut, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I just see you, Scully, nothing else. The rest is just … it’s just …” he couldn’t get past the sentence at first and voice cracking, “the rest is just sidebar nonsense that you deal with when you love somebody.”

She would have cried had she had the strength but she did manage her final request of the day, “will you come keep me warm?”

Nodding, he found his ‘staying the night’ sweatpants and, blinds closed and drapes drawn, dropping a dark shadow over the room, he slipped in beside her, not wanting to jostle the bed. Reaching towards her, he rubbed her back for a moment, “good night.”

Last ounce of energy, she scooted back a few inches, “meet me in the middle.” Drained by those few inches, Mulder had to do most of the moving but soon, they were together, Scully instantly relaxing into the heat of him. Out in seconds, Mulder felt her drift off and before he followed, he kissed the back of her neck, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[sneezyminniejo]

Happy Birthday To Uh Oh

I wanted to put out a birthday sickfic because it’s my birthday! So here ya go.

TW emeto

Jungkook had woken up feeling completely off. He wasn't able to fully place the feeling and sighed as he got out of bed for another day of busy schedules. As he got ready for the day, he found himself being far more sluggish than usual. When it came time for breakfast, Jungkook found that he wasn’t all that hungry, so he just had a piece of toast and an apple.

Seokjin was the first one to notice anything, glancing over to the maknae, who appeared to be falling asleep with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. “Jungkook, are you feeling okay?” Jungkook startled out of whatever daze he was in and hummed. “I’m just tired, hyung. I don’t think I got enough sleep last night.” Seokjin accepted the response and went back to making eggs.

As the other member bustled about the dorm to get ready for the day, they too took note of Jungkook’s listlessness. They gave both the eldest and the youngest questioning glances and was given the same response of Jungkook just being tired.

During dance practice, Jungkook’s listlessness was especially apparent. His moves were slow and clunky. In fact he almost ran into Jimin a couple of times. Vocal practice wasn’t much better. Jungkook was struggling to reach the higher notes that were normally easy for him to reach. His voice also lacked the usual spark that was there even if they were just running scales. It eventually got to the point that Yoongi told Jungkook to go to his studio to take a nap on the couch. Jungkook accepted and left the group shortly thereafter.

While the youngest was napping, the other six decided to confer for a quick meeting. “Do you think he’ll be alert enough for what we have planned this afternoon? He doesn’t even seem to remember what today is.” Hoseok said. 

“I think he’s just really tired. He did go to bed after the rest of us did. I think we should continue with operation surprise party.” Jimin had said.

After about thirty minutes, Taehyung went to wake up Jungkook to go get dinner with him before heading back to the dorm. It was his job to keep the youngest distracted while the others got the dorm ready for the party. When Taehyung entered the studio he found that Jungkook appeared to have just woken up.

When Jungkook woke up from his nap, he realized why he’d been feeling so off all day. He was sick. Upon waking, he had a headache and was starting to feel a bit nauseous.

Right after he had come to this realization, Taehyung entered the studio. "Hey Kookie, hyungs want us to go grab dinner for them and bring it back to the dorm." "Okay, I'll be out in a sec hyung." Taehyung closed the door and waited for Jungkook.

Jungkook came out of the studio shortly, and he realized that he really wasn't hungry for anything and that he'd probably puke if he tried to eat anything. He followed Taehyung to a pizza joint, where the got five pizzas. Jungkook also talked his hyung into getting some rice and chicken for a side.

On the walk home, Jungkook's nausea was beginning to build. He started to take calculated breaths in hopes of staving off puking until he got inside. Puking all over the street would be far too embarrassing. The smell of the food was making it even harder for him.

Jungkook ran inside the second they reached the dorm. All of a sudden, all the lights were turned on."HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNGKOOK!" Jungkook was so shocked at the surprise party and the fact that he had evidently forgotten his own birthday, that the nausea had momentarily subsided. Only momentarily.

Hoseok brought out the cake and everyone started singing. Suddenly Jungkook's stomach decided that it needed to be empty five minutes ago, so he didn't even have time to find a trash can before he threw up all over the floor. Jungkook is a coughing and spluttering mess, trying to not puke anymore than he already has, and is failing miserably. Every time he thinks there might be a lull so he can dash off to the bathroom, or sink, or something, his stomach contract violently, causing more of the vile liquid to resurface.

Needless to say the other six members were completely shocked at the scene before them. No one had any inkling that Jungkook was sick. They all thought that he was just tired.

It had also, apparently, been a mistake to have Hoseok carry the cake. Being a sympathetic puker, Hoseok didn’t stand a chance against the maknae’s near projectile stream. Normally he would have some kind of warning so he could potentially remove himself from the situation, but this was not the case. Hoseok practically threw the cake at the nearest person in hopes of not puking on it. That person was Jimin.

Jimin had managed to take the cake from Hoseok mostly unscathed. There was now some smudging in the frosting, but otherwise the cake was safe. Jimin went to put the cake on the counter while the others tended to the two that were busy spilling their stomach contents all over the floor of the dorm.

Since Taehyung was right next to Jungkook, he quickly placed the food they brought home off to the side and grabbed the bucket next to the door that they keep their umbrellas in and emptied it out. He thrust it underneath Jungkook’s mouth during one of the brief lulls, and began rubbing his back in hopes of comforting the younger.

Yoongi decided to help out Hoseok. He grabbed a nearby trash can and during a lull, put the can in the younger’s arms and led him away from the room. Namjoon went to grab cleaning supplies, and Seokjin went to the medicine cabinet to find their thermometer and any other medicine they might need.

After Jungkook’s intense display, he quietly uttered the word “dizzy” and Taehyung helped lead him to the couch so he could sit down sooner rather than later. Jimin joined the other two maknaes on the couch and started combing his hands through the youngest’s hair in hopes of giving him added comfort.

It didn’t take long for Seokjin to return with his supplies, nor did it take long for Namjoon to return with the supersorb, towels, mop, and buckets. Taehyunng decided to help their leader in cleaning up, since there were two piles of sick and two people would get the job done faster.

The first thing Seokjin did was take Jungkook’s temperature. “Aish Kookah, you have a moderate fever of 101.2. Why didn’t you tell anybody you were sick?” Jungkook, who currently had his head on Jimin’s shoulder and was utterly exhausted from the physical strain of vomiting said, “I didn’t know I was sick. I honestly thought I was tired until shortly after the nap in Yoongi-hyungs studio. I also thought that I wouldn’t throw up until long after returning to the dorm.” Jungkook glance down for a moment before glancing back up to his hyung. “Hyung could you make me some soup please?” Seokjin nodded and went to the kitchen to start making soup.

Several minutes later, Namjoon and Taehyung had finished cleaning up the vomit and Namjoon decided to take his accumulated trash out along with the bucket the Jungkook had been sick in so he could hose it off real quick. Upon the slightly worried look from Jimin about whether that was a good idea, Yoongi and Hoseok had reemerged and Yoongi gave Jungkook a freshly changed trash can, while Hoseok went to help Seokjin in the kitchen.

Taehyung grabbed the pizza and chicken that had been discarded and brought it to the kitchen as well before going on social media to announce there would be no birthday vlive stream for Jungkook today as he had fallen ill. He then helped Seokjin and Hoseok put the soup into bowls. The three brought the bowls of soup into the living room and handed out the bowls to the various members and they turned on the tv to watch Iron Man.

“Sorry you had to get a stomach bug on your birthday Kook.” said Jimin solemnly. Jungkook just gave Jimin a look before eating another spoonful of soup and said “It’s okay hyung. I was so out of it today that I had forgotten that it was my birthday until we got back to the dorm and you all shouted ‘Happy Birthday’.” They all gave him a sympathetic look. 

Hoseok decided to break the silence. “Can you try to give us some warning next time you’re about puke, so we don’t have a repeat of earlier?” Everyone laughed at that because it was obvious that what had happened earlier was extremely sudden and they also knew that Hoseok was joking in hopes of lightening the mood.

After a couple of days Jungkook was feeling much better and the seven members had a proper celebration. Jungkook did his birthday vlive and assured fans that he was doing significantly better than on his birthday and just told them that he had caught a stomach bug and left out the very disgusting details of what had happened.

[plaidbooks]

Could you do an imagine of having a fling with Carisi and getting pregnant?

Fling

A/N: Hey Anon! Heck yes I can do that! Remember peeps, if you’re gonna  have a ONS, be safe about it! Hope you enjoy

Tags: alcohol and bad decisions, mentions of smut, mentions of vomiting

Words: 1726

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles

It had been…a long day. You were the owner of a coffee shop that doubled as a bookstore, and three employees had up and quit on you. You had scrambled to find replacements, and while the new kids were working out well, they were still new, and needed a lot of handholding. So, on Saturday night, with the shop closed on Sundays, you went to the bar, hoping to just drink until you could forget about your worries for a little bit. What you weren’t expecting was for the ridiculously cute man, his suit jacket over the back of his chair and his sleeves rolled up, to buy you a drink. You were already pretty drunk, your inhibitions low, so you chatted with the stranger, who also seemed pretty far gone.

“Why don’t we take this party back to my place?” you eventually asked, and he agreed, a lopsided smirk on his face, his bright blue eyes clouded with alcohol.

In the back of the cab, you had drunkenly kissed him, and he kissed you back, both of you exploring each other’s bodies with your hands. Pulling up at your place, you dragged him inside. Once the door was closed, he had pushed you up against the wall, his mouth biting and sucking at your neck. You grabbed at his gelled hair, pulling soft groans from him as he marked you. You both eventually made it to the bedroom, naked, and you pulled him on top of you as you collapsed onto the bed.

“Fuck me—give me all you got,” you purred at him, and he growled, shoving himself into you roughly. You moaned as he thrusted into you hard and deep. When you came, clenching around him, he was right behind you, spilling his release deep within you. You passed out soon after that, his arms draped over you.

 *******************

When you awoke, the man was already gone, leaving no trace of himself behind, except the marks on your neck and a small, handwritten note on your bedside table.

Last night was incredible. Sorry I left so quickly—I had work. Maybe we can do dinner sometime? – Sonny

He had written his number after his name, and while the sex—from what you remembered—was great, you really didn’t want a relationship right now. It was just a fling, a one-night stand. So, you crumpled up his note and threw it away before getting in the shower.

 ******************

The new employees were finally settling in, and life was getting back to normal. Though, you were still stressed with everything going on—it was the summer months, which meant tourists, which meant business. And while you were grateful for the profits you were bringing in, you really needed to hire on some extra help. You vaguely noticed that your period was late, but that was probably from the stress—it had happened before. Besides, you didn’t remember when you had it last month, so you weren’t positive how late you were, really.

You decided to sleep early that night—you had so many interviews the next day. So, setting an alarm for 6am, you went to bed, hoping for a full night’s sleep. But you tossed and turned all night, your stomach killing you. At 3am, you got up, sprinting to your bathroom, barely making it before you puked your guts out. Oh God, you could not afford to be sick at a time like this. You couldn’t sleep after that, still feeling nauseous, and vomiting once more after eating a light breakfast. Groaning in pain, you sent a mass message to all your potential employees, asking for them to please reschedule, and then you called your doctor.

“When was the last time you had your period?” she had asked, running an ultrasound.

You shook your head. “I don’t know, last month? I’ve been…too busy. I honestly don’t remember….”

She put the machine down, letting the nurse start disinfecting it. She gave you a small smile. “Well, you’re pregnant.”

“I-what? But…but I haven’t had…” you trailed off, remembering the drunken night in the bar, the man you had taken home. You didn’t even remember his name, let alone the phone number he had scrawled underneath his message. And that was weeks ago! That paper was long gone.

The doctor nodded knowingly. “You’re about six weeks along. Come back to the examination room; I’ll give you pamphlets, answer any questions you have.” You nodded, hopping of the ultrasound table, being extra careful now—you had life inside you!

 ****************

The doctor had talked for you for upwards of an hour; you wanted to keep the baby, that was definite. But how would you make time for it? Pay for it? You were so conflicted, so incredibly happy yet so incredibly stressed, lost. You had family you could talk to, and you were sure they’d help you, too. But you were going to be a single mother. You struggled to remember the man’s name; it was something light and fun. Benny? Sammy? That wasn’t right. You didn’t even know what he did for a living; hell, you vaguely remembered what he looked like. Gelled hair, tall, blue eyes.

And besides, what was the point of finding him? Did you think he’d want to be apart of this? Or would he laugh in your face and run, determined to not have to pay child support? Giving up on the idea, you decided to just do this on your own—outside help from family and nurses, of course.

 ***************

Six months later, you were well into your pregnancy, your belly swelling in front of you. Jury summons clutched in your hand, you waddled your way into the courthouse. You couldn’t be a juror at this time, but when you had tried to call the number on the paper, it kept saying disconnected. So now, here you were, pissed and exhausted, making your way to whoever could postpone your summons until after you gave birth.

“Here, lemme get that door for you,” a man’s voice said. He rushed in front of you, holding the door open and you froze, staring at him. He furrowed his brow at you, scanning your face in confusion—not because you had stopped moving, but because there was the faintest hint of recognition. “Have we, uh, have we met before?” he asked.

Gelled hair, tall, blue eyes. He was obviously a lawyer, coming to work. But how were you going to bring this up to him? “Ah, no, sorry sir. Thank you for the door,” you muttered, shuffling past him.

He watched you walk by him, then fell into step next to you, easily keeping pace with his long legs. “Are you sure? You look so familiar….”

“Positive. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find where I can postpone my jury summons,” you replied, your voice flat.

He stopped in his tracks, letting you walk away, and you let out a sigh. But you didn’t make it far before he shouted, “wait!” He jogged after you, catching up quickly. He grabbed your elbow, leading you away from the crowded hall. He dropped his voice. “Did we…meet at a bar? This would’ve been months ago—I understand if you’ve forgotten me.”

He really didn’t get it, did he? “Yes, we did.”

The man nodded, his forehead crinkled as he thought. “I’m not gonna lie; I was a little sad when you didn’t call,” he joked. “But I’m glad to see you’re doing well, and that you found someone.”

His smile was so genuine, so sincere…he really didn’t get it! He figured you didn’t like him, that you had found someone else, settled down. “Uh, thanks. I’m still painfully single though,” you replied, forcing a smile.

You turned to walk away, leaving him stunned. Following the signs, you quickly found your way to the window you needed, negotiating a new date in another six months for your jury duty. Having that taken care of, you made your way out of the bowels of the courthouse. You had almost made it to the front doors when the man from the bar had tracked you down once more.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but I-I have to know….” His voice dropped to a whisper, “is it…mine?” His bright blue eyes flickered to your belly, then back to your face.

You could’ve said no, denied it and spared him. But something must have shown on your face, because his eyes filled with such sadness, such regret.  So, you had no choice but to say, “yes, it’s yours.”

He took a shuttering breath, looking like he was on the verge of tears. “I…I’m so sorry. I-I should’ve used a condom.” He ran a hand through his hair, tears really springing up in his eyes now. “Fuck, I’m such an asshole.”

“Look,” you said, trying to stop his self-hating streak. “It takes two to make a baby, okay? I’m…just as irresponsible as you.” That made him let out a soft sob, and you switched to trying to make him feel better. “I’m not due for another two-ish months; why don’t we…I don’t know, get dinner one night? I mean…if you want—”

“Yes, please,” he replied. “I…I want to be in my baby’s life, no matter what happens between you and I. Please.”

He was desperate, and it was hard to say no. But you also needed to know him first. “Okay. Let’s start slow, get to know each other. We can figure out everything else later.”

He nodded. “Why—why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked. He didn’t sound mad, just confused, wondering why you would choose to keep this from him, to do this on your own.

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment. “I, uh, threw out your note and I’ve…forgotten your name. I had no way to find you. And besides, I was…afraid you’d be upset about it, afraid you’d ask me to t-terminate—”

His eyes went wide, “no, I would never!” He took a deep, shuttering breath. “Let’s…let’s start over.” He held his hand out to you. “My name is Dominick Carisi, but you can call me Sonny.”

Smiling, you took his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Sonny. Now, if you don’t mind, my feet are killing me, and I need to sit before my legs collapse.”

[im-in-love-with-pizza-bites]

It Takes A Village Chapter 6

Chris Evans x Pregnant!daughter!reader

Series Master List

Series Summary: You find out that your pregnant. After being kicked out of your mom's house you go to live full time with your Dad who you only saw once every few months. Will he react badly to you being a mom at such a young age?

Chapter Summary: morning sickness begins.

Series Warnings: swearing, fighting with a parent, teen pregnancy, speak of abortion.

Chapter Warnings: teen pregnancy, mentions of throwing up,

Okay I think at this point everyone knows what y/n means so I'm going to stop telling you all.

You guys made it home and you are at the table beginning to do your homework. "Dad... What if I'm not ready for the baby?" You asked him looking up to where he sat at the table doing something for work.

"No one is ready I sure wasn't." He said giving you a reassuring smile.

"I guess." You mumbled looking back down at your homework. Your phone buzzed letting you know you got a notification. It was from, Oscar. "Hey Alien it's Conley." You read. You texted back before going back to doing your homework.

"Bubba you'll do fine. And I'll be here to help you with the baby." He said giving you a quick smile.

"Yeah." You said working on your homework. You suddenly had the urge to throw up and stood running toward the bathroom. Your dad looking up confused before following you.

"Sweetpea?" He made it to the bathroom right when you leaned by the toilet puking. He came over and pulled your hair up frowning as you threw up. "Morning sickness."

"It's not morning." You whined once you stopped.

"Yeah I know it's a dumb name. You okay?"

"Ye-" you were cut off throwing up more. He rubbed your back sighing, one of his hands still holding your hair out of your face for you.

"There you go Bubba let it all out." He mumbled. Dodger came into the bathroom looking at the pair of you worriedly.

"Okay I'm okay." You mumbled wiping your mouth with a piece of toilet paper. Chris hesitantly let go of your hair and you stood up straight.

"Okay wash up I'll be in the dining room." He said shutting the door as he left. You sighed flushing the toilet. You went over to the sink and washed your hands before grabbing your toothbrush and brushing your teeth. You looked in the mirror sighing.

You made your way to the dining room where you found your dad sitting where he had been before. "You okay?" He asked looking up at you giving you a gentle smile.

"Yeah how long does morning sickness last?" You mumbled sitting down where your homework was sat.

"I don't know Sweetpea.." He said.

---

That night you got up two times because you had to throw up. Both time your dad had heard and held your hair out of your face. When you woke up your dad wasn't awake so you got ready and made breakfast for yourself before writing a note for him and going to school. When you got there you saw students talking to each other none noticing anything going on around them except the laughter with their friends. You remember it was the same way when you were in texas. You made it to your locker.

You closed your locker making it to Mr. Sparks' class. You sat in the same seat you had last time as you watched your classmates file in. You notice Oscar come in this time not in a hurry.

He sat in the same next to you smiling at you. "Hey alien." Class hadn't started yet giving everyone time to talk.

"Hey Conley, I see you figured out how to put a shirt on." You teased looking at him.

"Yeah! Did you find the first person of the human race your going to kill?" He asked jokingly.

"You." You said trying to sound intimidating.

"Betrayal!" You giggled as the teacher walked in.

Everyone in your class stopped talking looking ahead. It was around halfway into class when you felt the urge to throw up. You quickly raised your hand asking to go to the bathroom. He allowed you to and you speed-walked out of the classroom before dashing to the bathroom making it to the stall in time. After throwing up you wiped off your face and washed your hands before heading back to class. The rest of your classes leading up to lunch went without a hitch. Oscar had convinced you to join him and his friends for lunch so you did. You didn't eat much during lunch but did talk with his friends.

"So y/n you moved in with your dad like three months before the last day of school? Come on there has to be a reason." Liam, one of his friends said.

"There is... But I don't want to talk a bout it." You said sheepishly picking around at your food unable to find an appetite.

"I still think she's an alien!" Oscar said.

"Yeah a alien, that moved here from texas." You rolled your eyes a smile.

"Ignore him he watches too many sci-fi movies." Marcus, who from what you could tell was Oscar's brother.

"Will do." You smiled.

"Marcus your one to talk all you ever watch is super hero movies." One of the only other girls of the group, Leah who is Oscar and Marcus' sister. They were all apparently a year apart, Marcus being the oldest and Oscar being the youngest. You couldn't suppress the smile on your face.

"Who's your favorite super hero?" You asked him.

"Drax."

"Cool mine's Captain America." You said.

"Probably cause you share a last name with the guy who plays him." Oscar said.

"Oh shush it Sci-fi boy." You smiled.

"How bout you all shush it, Flash is obviously the best super hero." Liam said.

"No way Spiderman is." The other girl of the group of five, Naomi said.

"Wait you share a last name with Chris Evans?" Marcus asked. A lot more then just a last name. You thought before nodding.

"Yeah doesn't Chris Evans live here in Boston?" Leah asked.

"Your y/n Evans!" Marcus said a bit loudly and you shushed him.

"Okay maybe."

"So you do have a cool story!" Liam and Oscar said.

"I didn't move back here just because my dad is Chris Evans. Texas just wasn't the place for me."

"So how many superheroes have you met?" Naomi asked.

"Mo-" you stop mid-sentence feeling nauseous. "Hold that thought I'll be right back." You hurried to the bathroom making it just in time. You sighed wiping off your face and washing your hands once you were done throwing up. This morning sickness was going to be the death of you. You made it back to the table where they were looking at you confused.

"You okay?" Liam asked.

"Uh yeah." You nodded.

---

Your dad had texted you earlier saying he wouldn't be able to pick you up as he was doing something for the movie that was going to start filming this summer. So in result your walking up alone. A car pulls up beside you and your initial reaction is to run but then you see it's Marcus in the driver seat and you can also see Leah in the passenger seat.

"What happened to your flying saucer?" The back window came down revealing Oscar and you saw Liam on the other side.

"He has meetings... What are yall doing?"

"Ooh... Fancy southern words." Liam peaked over Oscar's shoulder to look at you. "Do you say bless your heart?"

"Sometimes... Well I'm going to go home now..." You said beginning to walk away from their pulled over car.

"Want a ride?" Marcus asked you.

"Nah yall my house ain't to far." You said shrugging.

"Okay bye." The car drove off and you continued on your way home.

---

Once you got home you let Dodger out into the yard and made your way to your room to do homework. You finished your homework just in time to hear your dad call you down for dinner. You ran down seeing a pizza box on the table.

"Hey dad! So I have so much to tell you! I made more friends, Liam, Marcus, Leah, and Naomi! They're friends with Oscar... Well two of them are his siblings. They found out that I'm your daughter... And morning sickness sucks!" You said smiling as you sat down grabbing a piece of pizza.

"Seems like you had a good day." He smiled at you.

"Yeah. So how was your day?"

"It was good. Bubba, you're gonna have to tell them about the baby though."

"Yeah but what if they stop being my friends I mean I just met them. What do I say " oh hey I'm pregnant that's why I moved back to boston" I'll tell them next time they ask I moved to boston." You shrugged.

"Okay. Did you do your homework?"

"Yep!" Chris smiled at you he was glad to see smiling and cheerful like actually cheerful. He could tell you had been faking before but didn't bring it up. He knew if you wanted to talk you would.

Taglist: @toastisgood @coldmuffinpartycloud @thevelvetseries

[forgotten-daydreamer]

Haikyuu sick/hurt characters headcanons: Karasuno edition!

⚠️ sickness, injuries, phobias, allergies and correlated symptoms ahead. If these themes upset you, proceed with caution. If you use these, credit me, please. ⚠️

Sawamura Daichi:

He doesn't let anyone know when he's sick. He'll show up to practise with a fever of 39°C and say that he's fine if someone points out how warm he is ("It's just overextertion. If you're not warm, it means you haven't been exercising well!")

He doesn't actually believe that he's fine, he knows his limits, but he just doesn't want to alarm anyone.

Luckily, he always manages to hold on until he reaches the bathroom if he's feeling pukey.

When he does get sick, he's very quiet and discreet. He always tries to go back to what he was doing before, insisting that he's okay.

When he's sick or hurt, the other third-years can see through his "I'm okay!" act (remember that time he hit his head and insisted that he was fine to play?), and know how miserable he really feels, so they force him to take it easyー he's no match for Suga, who will use mild violence if that's what it takes to make Daichi give up and rest.

Sugawara Kōshi:

He's anemic, cue to his constantly cold hands (and feet). Because of this, he takes iron pillsー or he should, because he forgets more often than not.

When he forgets the pills, he gets dizzy and weak, and needs to sit down for a bit. Once, he passed out due to anemia during practise, and he doesn't want to repeat that ever again, so he's extra cautious.

It's easy to understand when he's feverish, because he gets unexpectedly sleepy and quiet. He will fall asleep in class without even realising it if his temperature's any higher than 37,5°C.

He rarely gets hurt, but when that happens nobody's sure if he's okay or not. It's not that he denies it, but he simply doesn't say anything ("why didn't you say anything sooner!?" "B-because you didn't ask..?")

Once, he twisted his ankle and walked on it for a little less than thirty minutes before actually asking the coach if he could go get himself some ice. Of course, they didn't send him to get the icepack, but he had to sit there and listen as Coach Ukai yelled at him for not speaking up sooner.

Azumane Asahi:

He gets anxiety-induced stomach aches very often, and that's why he's used to feeling dizzy and to puking. Vomit doesn't scare him anymore.

Whenever he's sick, he runs away from the others; he needs to flee, far away. He loves his teammates, but he's scared that they'll accidentally overwhelm him further, and he doesn't want them to feel guilty.

This man can't stand the sight of blood. Like, at all, not even a little. Not even in movies. When Shimizu got a shallow paper cut, the Coach actually had to physically support him when getting him seated on a bench.

He broke his left index finger when he was a first-year, and as soon as he saw the bone sticking out of the skin (it looked worse than what it really was) he fell backwards and on a very concerned Sugawara without a word.

Cue to lots of tears and puke on the way to the hospital. He was inconsolable, but when Daichi had the idea to hide the injury from his eyes, Asahi managed to calm down a bit. In every situation, it's not the injury that scares him, but the blood.

Nishinoya Yuu:

He's reckless, he won't even notice when he gets injured. Since he's so used to bruises, bumps and shallow cuts, he doesn't understand when he's actually injured.

This guy played a whole set with a sprained wrist before realising that "hey, this feels kinda weird..?" and he didn't tell anyone until the end of the game, when his wrist was visibly swollen.

High pain tolerance plays a major role when he's injured or sick. Still, the others wish he would have a more average pain tolerance, because, once, Nishinoya felt sick during math class, and still claimed he was fine. He thought he was.

When he was rushed to the hospital due to a "mild ache in his lower stomach" that had been going on for two days after the math class incident, along with a 38,7°C fever, he was told that he had appendicitis ("I thought I just ate something bad or that I needed to take a huge dump! How was I supposed to know!? I thought I was fine."). It was clear that he wasn't, in fact, fine.

Tanaka Ryuunosuke:

He will try to toughen everything out and ignore the pain until it gets unbearable. Be it an injury or some sickness, he will automatically ignore it if he doesn't think it's serious enough to be life-threatening.

That's why he almost died when he ate one of the peanut butter cookies that Yachi had baked. Turns out, allergies do existー but he wished he'd found out in a different way. Sometimes, "My throat's kinda itchy. Does my tongue look... too big? It... it feels too big." can be synonym of "Hospital, now." Bless Takeda-sensei.

The time when he collided with Daichi, Tanaka completely ignored the fact that his arm hurt, and only realised when he took his shirt off in the locker-room and heard a screech from Yamaguchi. The bruise went from his shoulder to his elbow, blue and swollen. Cue to lots of pain relief cream and ice packs.

Ennoshita Chikara:

He never broke a bone in his whole life, but he's very good at dealing with it when it happens to someone else. He's just fascinated by how the human body works, and sometimes people think he's being cold in front of someone else's pain, when he's really just being logical.

He's good at dealing with his own pain too, though he rarely gets hurt or sick.

When he gets sick, he recovers pretty rapidly, but this leads him into relapse. That's why he's not allowed back to practise for a whole week after he recovers ("I'm fine. I've been fine for three days already, my fever wasn't even that high..." "Last time you said you were fine, you almost got pneumonia. Go home.").

He gets bad allergies during spring, and takes a lot of antihistamine pills which make him sleepy. He often has to excuse himself from class to go take a nap in the infirmaryー the teachers and the nurse know, so they always allow him to.

Narita Kazuhito:

This man is the embodiment of health. His diet and lifestyle will probably allow him to live until past the age of 100.

That's why he's not used to getting sick. And when he does, he's a confused mess with no idea of what to do with himself.

When he puked on himself after practise he was so shocked that he chuckled nervously and stood still, frozen, until Kinoshita and Ennoshita dragged him to the bathroom. He almost found the whole ordeal funny.

Kinoshita Hisashi:

He really despises vegetables and fruit, and often gets mocked because of it. He often stuffs himself with sweets and fried food until he feels sick ("But... how? That cake had strawberries in it! It's supposed to be healthy!").

He gets very bad seasickness. Once, his friends decided to drag him to Miyajima: he spent the time on the ferry and first hour on the island puking his guts out.

The thing he doesn't do good with is fainting: if someone passes out in front of him, he does the same, always. When Daichi passed out in the middle of the court, Kinoshita was thankful that Narita was there to hold him up, because he was ready to leave the land of the living.

Kageyama Tobio:

Always denies everything ("my nose is not bleeding!!") and this only makes everything worse for him. If he feels shaky, he won't take a clue and sit down; instead, he'll push himself and end up falling down on whoever's closest to him ("Daichi-san, nice receive!" "Now's really not the time, Hinata...").

When he gets sick, he gets sick hard. The flu has him puking all day long, with a fever of 39.5°C that, he insists, is not that high. His family and friends are smart enough to understand that he's lying. Not even the doctors and nurses at the E.R. can convince him that he's sick.

To be fair, he does not lie when he says that he's not hurt or sick: he genuinely thinks that whatever's going on with him is normal and not that bad.

He accidentally tripped on the leg of a desk in class, and fell face first into the teachers'. The deep, bleeding cut on his forehead wasn't enough for him to understand that he needed to go to the infirmary, and he just sat back at his desk, apologising for the mess. Turns out that his "little cut" needed six stitches in the end, and that his "mild headache" was, in fact, a mild concussion. He showed up to practise the following day anyway, and the Coach had to physically prevent him from joining.

He doesn't do good with nausea, though; he doesn't mind fevers, joint-pains, blood, bruises, or the act of throwing up itself. But when he feels nauseous he actively wishes to pass out, because anything is better than dealing with feeling like that. That's why he'd rather stick his fingers down his throat to get rid of the nausea already than waiting for it to pass naturally.

This got worse when he started suffering from migraines. As soon as he feels one starting to build behind his eye, he throws himself over the toilet, waiting for the dreaded nausea to come so that he can get rid of it before it gets too bad. He stays like that for hours if that's what it takes.

Hinata Shōyō:

He pukes a lot, and for a number of reasons: nervousness, motion sickness, fear, hungerー this guy can't even take it to the bathroom.

His guts are a mess, and he either vomits or poops every time he feels any strong emotion (which is...pretty often, for him). Thank goodness his friends always have pills that help with motion sickness with them, along with antiacid pills and sparkling water, and that Kiyoko and Yachi often restock the bus and everyone's backpacks with paper bags.

The higher the fever, the more he moves. Ever since he was a kid, a fever has never stopped him, and to be fair, fevers make him feel more motivated and energetic. He takes "Hey, no. Sit down, drink up, and rest." as an insult because "I'm fine. You're benching me because you think I suck, huh!? But I was doing fine! I- I was being good, right..?"

Yes, fevers make him emotional. He'll cry for anything once they make him admit that he's sick. He mostly cries because "How could I get sick? I'm going to be useless! I should've paid more attention, I should've been better!" but Kageyama knows for sure that he saw a feverish Hinata crying over a picture of his sister, for some reason.

He doesn't mind blood when he's the one to be bleeding, but if it's someone else, he freaks out. Seeing someone else having a bloody nose or bleeding from some injury, even small and insignificant, makes his stomach flip.

Tsukishima Kei:

He's never said "I'm in pain." in his whole life. The most honest statement he managed to grit out was "It kinda hurts.", but he never said anything more than that. He won't show himself being so vulnerable, ever.

Whenever he has to go to the optometrist, he won't eat anything for at least half a day before the appointment, because he knows for sure that he's going to throw up after the doctor dilatates his pupils.

He's a quiet puker, and he always locks himself up in the bathroom, which can be dangerous in those situations. After that time when he passed out after throwing up, his mother got an extra key of the bathroom, and always lingers close to the door when she knows that her son's about to be sick.

If anyone tries to interrupt him when he throws up or when he's in acute pain, he will yell at them. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the help, but he hates how everything feels so crowded around him when he's down. The only person who's brave enough to help him when he's like that is Yamaguchi, mostly because he's used to hearing his angry words (even if Tsukishima's never insulted him personally).

Yamaguchi Tadashi:

Terribly emetophobic, he won't throw up even if he has to. He just won't do that, no way... Which is cruelly ironic, since he gets sick pretty often due to anxiety and weak immune system. Tsukishima doesn't mind helping him out (but he would never step close to anyone else when they're sick) but he can be a bit rough sometimes; this both reassures and agitates Yamaguchi. "I'll stick my fingers down your throat if you don't throw up now." doesn't sound too kind, but when Tsukishima adds "it'll make you feel better, I promise." Yamaguchi feels a bit calmer. He’s also a loud puker.

He's a type-2 diabetic, though he has it under control and hasn't had any problem related to that in a while, not since the beginning of middle school, at least. Still, sometimes he needs to reluctantly sit practise out because he's obviously too shaky and weak to strain himself that much. When that happens, they all make sure that someone sits with him to make him feel less alone... and he appreciates it immensely.

He's on anxiety meds, but they make him feel dizzy sometimes, which leads him into a spiral of panic for fear that he'll get sick. It's a huge contradiction, really, and he hates it with his whole soul.

He's one of the people in the team who can handle others' sickness and injuries better; it might shock him for a second, but he's ready to jump into action and solve the problem in order to help his friends out.

Injuries don't scare him, though the worst thing that ever happened to him was when he got punched in the face by a bully. He also broke his arm in middleschool once though he doesn't remember muchー maybe it was the shock, or maybe it was that it hurt less than he imagined. The punch freaked him out more than that.

Yachi Hitoka

She's a good caretaker, but an absolute mess when it comes to taking care of her own injuries and sickness.

She's clumsy so she's not new to bruises and cuts, but this doesn't mean that she doesn't freak out a bit whenever she sees blood on her legs or arms. On their way home from school, one day, Hinata and Yamaguchi decided to get her band-aids with little chicks and kittens on them. She finished the 30-pack in less than a month.

She got her period a bit late in life, a couple of months before turning 15, and whenever she's on her period, it hits her like a train at full-speed in the guts. Kiyoko taught her some yoga moves that help with the cramps, and the boys never bother the two of them when they see them doing yoga in the corner of the gym. In fact, they also bought her an electric heating pad for her birthday along with an indecent amount of chocolate that didn't fit in Yachi's bag (and various other presents not concerning periods).

Shimizu Kiyoko:

The scars on her legs are fully healed, yet the skin there is thinner, and so the wounds reopen whenever she accidentally hurts herself there. They sting quite a bit, and though it's unusual, she hisses out loud when it's bad. Everyone agreed to make sure that medkit is always equipped with antiseptic cream. To this day, Kiyoko insists that it isn't necessary, but they disagree.

She always knows what to do when someone else feels sick, but she's unsure about what she'd do in case of her own sickness. She hasn't been sick in too long to know.

She hasn't gotten a cold since elementary school, and that one time when she thought she'd caught something, when she sneezed at the age of 16, it was actually just a bit of dust allergy. She doesn't even need meds for it.

Takeda Ittetsu:

He hardly gets sick, but he ends up hunched over the toilet more often than not after a Friday night out with his friends. He drinks quite a bit for a teacher, but only when he knows that he can do that without compromising his career or setting the wrong example. Hangovers also leave him a messy wreck, and that's why he only drinks on Fridays: that way, he has until Sunday night to recover.

For someone who's constantly surrounded by teenagers, he doesn't get sick much. He catches a cold every now and then, but nothing more serious than that. And when he's sick, he always tries to prevent the others from catching what he's got, without actually taking care of himself to heal.

Once, he got a fever of 40,1°C and luckily for him Ukai was coming over to discuss about the volleyball club; he found Takeda sprawled face-down in front of the open door. He was boiling, so Ukai took him to the hospital where he stayed for two days. ("I didn't think it was this bad." "So you knew you had a fever and still went to work?" "Yeah, but I had a mask on so that the others could be safe." "And you didn't buy medicine in the meantime?" "Ah, no." "...what the hell!?").

Ukai Keishin:

He catches a cold every other month, no matter how many layers of clothes he wears. These colds are often accompanied by low fevers, but he's used to those so he simply chugs some orange juice and moves on.

He tried to quit smoking countless times, especially since he started coaching these kids, but he can't help smoking at least three of cigs per day. Still, sometimes his chest aches a bit, and maybe it's just paranoia, but when that happens he doesn't touch tobacco for a couple of days.

His liver would even be able to survive Takeda's nights out; his guts, in general, are strong and he swears he's never felt nauseous in his whole life.

💫 I might think of more sick karasuno hc soon, but that's it for now. Expect more characters hc soon! Again, credit me if you use these, and please feel free to share this post! 💫