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hottiesforhockey · 8 days ago

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jokes on you ⎜ q.hughes

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader genre: workplace romance ⎜ he falls first and he falls harder⎜ chronic illness rep ⎜nurse reader ⎜ warnings: mentions of chronic illness ⎜mentions of rheumatoid arthritis ⎜mentions of reader in hospital ⎜ mentions of injured quinn ⎜ not a lot tbh synopsis: you're not quite sure how to react when the hot shot captain calls 'dibs' on you - or how to react when he starts following you around like a lost puppy. word count: 10.5k authors note: this was one of the two top voted fics in my 'what's next poll' so here it is! i hope you all enjoy!

(unedited)

Quinn remembers the first time he saw you. It wasn’t the first official time—no, that came five months ago when you walked through the door as the new team nurse—but it was the first time that everything about you snapped into focus. And the memory still lingers, sharp and clear, like a vivid dream that refuses to fade.

Sure, he’d seen you before, a friendly smile passing between you when you first introduced yourself, but that moment? That moment was when you became something undeniable. And maybe, just maybe, that was when Quinn started to find a reason to end up in your office almost every day. Sometimes, it was an excuse as flimsy as his hand itching or a sore muscle, just enough to get him to slide onto the examination table for a few minutes of your attention. Because every time you smiled at him, every time your eyes sparkled, something in him twisted, like he was more alive than he’d been in years. And that smile? It made his stomach do things he couldn’t explain.

It was early autumn at training camp, the sun still casting its warm glow on everything outside of the rink. Quinn had been focused on stretching, trying to shake off the morning soreness, when he caught sight of you. You stood off to the side of the ice, clipboard in hand, dressed in athletic joggers and a fitted team jacket. The fluorescent lights made your hair seem to glow, catching the highlights that danced in the blasting air conditioning. You were talking to Coach, nodding seriously at something he was saying, but Quinn’s attention was caught by the way your lips barely curved, like you were holding back a secret joke.

He couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just how you looked—it was the way you carried yourself, so confident yet approachable, your presence magnetic. For a second, he was frozen, a weight settling in his chest, and it felt like the entire world fell away.

"Damn, Quinn, you look like you’ve seen a ghost," Elias teased, nudging him with a grin. Quinn hadn’t even realized he was staring, but Elias’s voice cut through the fog in his brain.

Quinn blinked, dragging his tongue across his teeth before scoffing, “Shut up.” But even as he said it, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. You were still talking to Coach, still holding that subtle, unspoken charm that made him feel like maybe he was a little out of his depth. And that realization hit him hard, like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t a casual interest. This was something else entirely. Something far more complicated. By the time practice wrapped up, Quinn’s resolve had already set. It was a certainty—he wasn’t going to let this go. And when the team moved into the locker room, stretching and laughing as they peeled off their jerseys, Quinn made his move.

"Dibs," he said, a nonchalant word, but his tone was sharp enough to carry across the room. Everyone stopped for a beat, the entire locker room pausing to look at him.

Elias raised an eyebrow from his spot on the bench. "Dibs?"

"On the new nurse," Quinn clarified, voice steady, though something dark flickered in his eyes.

A few guys chuckled, and someone let out a low whistle. “Man, you’re calling dibs on the nurse already?”

Quinn just shrugged, unapologetic. “Don’t care. I’m calling it now.”

Connor, sitting beside him, leaned back and crossed his arms. “You think just because you’ve claimed her, that means something? She’s not a piece of pizza.”

Quinn’s gaze hardened. “Exactly. That’s why I’m making it clear. I’m not playing around.” The room fell silent, an understanding rippling through the guys. A quiet murmur spread through the locker room as someone muttered, “Man’s already down bad.” Quinn didn’t deny it. He was down bad. From the moment he saw you, it was all he could think about. And no matter how many excuses he had to make—aching muscles, a sore back, a bruised ego—he wasn’t going to let anyone else have a chance at you.

The next few weeks only cemented his determination. It wasn’t just your looks that pulled him in—it was the way you were, how you commanded respect and exuded kindness in equal measure. It was the little things, too. The way you remembered everyone’s quirks��like how Elias had a habit of cracking his knuckles when he was nervous, or how Connor always grumbled when it was time for ice.

And you? You had started noticing his habits, too. The way he always slid onto the same corner of the examination table with a cocky grin. The way he acted like nothing was wrong, even when he winced while stretching out his shoulder. But he lingered, always hanging around after practice like he couldn’t get enough of your company.

One afternoon, after another long practice, Quinn limped into your office, pretending to rub his knee like it was hurting more than it actually was. You narrowed your eyes, recognizing the act immediately.

“You iced this yesterday, Quinn,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

“Better safe than sorry,” he replied, offering that lopsided grin that always made his heart beat just a little faster. You didn’t answer right away, just pressed the ice to his knee with a raised eyebrow, your fingers brushing his skin in a way that sent a jolt of electricity straight through him. The moment lasted too long, stretching like rubber. He could feel the tension in the air—something undeniable between you both.

But even that wasn’t the hardest part. It wasn’t the endless excuses he made to be near you. It was watching the other guys start to notice you, too. Brock, leaning a little too close when he spoke to you. Kiefer, always making an excuse to pop into the med room, lingering at your desk. And Elias, one of his closest friends, giving you lingering glances when he thought no one was looking.

Quinn’s jaw clenched at the thought. He wasn’t stupid. He saw it all. But he’d made his choice. He’d called dibs, and no one was going to take that away from him. Not if he could help it. Because if there was one thing Quinn was sure of, it was this: No one else was getting the chance to get close to you. Not while he still had a shot.

The following week, Quinn limped into your office after practice, his hand resting dramatically on his lower back as he shuffled through the door like he was in agony. He winced exaggeratedly, though it was mostly for show, and dropped down into the chair across from your desk, making sure to let out a low groan of discomfort. His eyes flicked up to you, half-expecting you to call him out for his antics.

And there it was—the unmistakable arch of your brow. You tilted your head slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you eyed him skeptically. "You sure it’s your back, or are you just trying to get some attention, Quinn?" His grin nearly faltered. He was doing his best to keep up the act, but there was something about the way you looked at him—amused, not at all fooled—that made his heart stutter. God, you saw right through him, he thought, but instead of backing down, he leaned into it, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“I promise, it’s not for the attention. This back of mine is practically screaming for help.” You didn’t answer right away. You just studied him for a moment, your gaze soft, but with a knowing glint that made his pulse spike. Then, with a sigh that said you were humoring him, you patted the space beside you on the examination table. “Alright, Quinn. Get up here. I’m sure I can work some magic and make you feel better.” He stood slowly, making a show of pretending to stretch, but when he moved to lie down on the table, he couldn’t stop the grin from breaking through. There was something comforting about the way you moved, like you knew exactly what you were doing, even when you were teasing him. Quinn caught the way you glanced at him from the corner of your eye as you adjusted the angle of the table, a quiet kind of warmth settling in your expression.

He settled onto the table, trying to force himself to relax, but he couldn’t quite stop the way his heart fluttered when you moved closer, your presence enveloping him like a soft blanket. You gently pressed your hands to his back, adjusting his posture, and that was when it happened. The moment your fingers brushed his spine, Quinn’s breath caught in his throat. The contact was electric, the warmth of your touch spreading through him in an instant, leaving him momentarily speechless. It’s just a touch, he reminded himself, but that didn’t stop the way his body responded, the way he felt every inch of his skin come alive under your hands.

"Better?" you asked softly, your voice gentle, and Quinn could swear the world slowed just then, like time had decided to give the two of you a moment of quiet.

He swallowed, nodding, though his heart was thudding against his chest. “Hmmm, I don’t know — might need to come back for a few more sessions.” The words hung in the air between you both, thick with something neither of you had dared to speak aloud. Quinn could feel it, the way the room seemed to shrink, how every little detail about you seemed magnified—how the soft scent of your shampoo filled his senses, how your fingers lingered just a moment too long on his back, as though you were reluctant to pull away. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioning, and Quinn found himself unable to tear his gaze away from yours. He had expected to feel embarrassed, to be caught in the act of faking his injuries, but instead, all he felt was an overwhelming sense of connection. You weren’t looking at him like he was just another player to treat, another injury to fix—you were looking at him like you really saw him.

The realization made him breathless. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat, replaced by a genuine smile—one that had nothing to do with his usual bravado or sarcasm. It was soft, vulnerable, real. "Thanks," he said quietly, his voice softer than usual. "Really." You met his gaze with a quiet understanding that made his chest ache. It wasn’t just the words, though. It was the way you looked at him like you cared, like he wasn’t just another guy on the team, but someone who mattered. It made him want to do better, be better.

"You're welcome, Quinn," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You know where to find me if you have anymore surprise injuries."

It wasn’t just the reassurance. It was the way your eyes lingered on him for just a moment longer than necessary, the faintest hesitation in your gaze that made Quinn’s stomach tighten with anticipation. He’d been patient, but something told him that there was more between the two of you than just the occasional visit to your office.

Before he could stop himself, Quinn straightened, his heart pounding in his chest. “You don’t mind, do you?” His voice was low, almost tentative. He shifted slightly, a slight tension in his body. “Me, coming around all the time, I mean. For injuries I may or may not have.” You chuckled softly, a sound that made Quinn’s stomach flip.

“I don’t mind the company, Quinn,” you said, your tone light but with a hint of something deeper, something more personal than just the typical nurse-patient banter.

His heart skipped a beat, and Quinn tried to mask the sudden surge of emotion with a casual shrug. “Good. Because I plan on sticking around.”

You smiled again, a little more knowingly this time, like you understood exactly what he meant. “Well, as long as you promise to stop faking injuries,” you teased, eyes sparkling with amusement. Quinn laughed softly, though the sound was more nervous than he intended.

"I’ll try to keep it to a minimum," he said, leaning back a little against the table, trying to keep the mood light even though his thoughts were racing. The teasing, the playful banter, it was easy to fall into with you, but Quinn couldn’t ignore the way his chest felt full, the way the air between you two seemed to crackle with something unspoken.

You took a step back then, and Quinn felt the weight of your absence immediately. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable emptiness—it was more like the space between you was charged, waiting for something else to happen. He watched you as you straightened up, adjusting your jacket, and then, for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, he stood a little taller, his gaze more certain.

“Thanks, again,” Quinn added, his voice steady now, though there was a lingering vulnerability in it.

You smiled again, but this time, it was different. “Anytime, Quinn.”

And as you turned to leave, the weight of your words echoed in his chest. You don’t mind the company. Quinn was beginning to think that, maybe, you didn’t just mean the company. You might have meant something more.

The next day, you caught him after practice again, but this time, it was different. You had a small grin on your face when you approached him, and Quinn couldn’t hide his growing excitement.

“Your back must be feeling better.” You tease, perching your elbows on the rink wall as you watch his teammates skate around the rink.

Quinn grinned, leaning back against the wall and stretching his arms above his head. “You could say that. Turns out, I’m just that good at healing,” he said with an exaggerated wink, trying to act casual, though his heart raced at the way you stood there, so close, with that teasing smile on your face.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your expression didn’t waver. “I think you’re just trying to get free back rubs at this point,” you said, half-smiling, clearly amused by his antics.

His heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t help but smile wider. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice lowering a little as his gaze flickered to your lips. He quickly corrected himself, focusing on your eyes. “But who can blame me? You’ve got magic hands.”

You laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made Quinn feel like he was floating. “Magic hands, huh?” you repeated, eyes sparkling.

Quinn’s grin faltered for a split second as he realised just how much he wanted to keep that playful banter going, how much he wanted to be near you. The air between you seemed to shift, like there was something more lingering beneath the surface that neither of you had dared to fully acknowledge yet.

Your smile softened, and for a moment, Quinn was sure he could hear the gentle thrum of his pulse in his ears. You were quiet, almost contemplative, your gaze lingering on him with an unreadable look. Then, you took a step closer to him, leaning just enough that your shoulder brushed his, your warmth seeping into his skin.

"You know, I’ve noticed you hanging around a lot lately, Quinn." Quinn’s breath caught in his throat, unsure whether the shift in your tone was a test or an invitation. He kept his gaze on you, trying to read the subtle nuance in your eyes, but the light was too soft, the air too thick.

“Guilty as charged,” he replied with a hint of self-mockery. “You’re pretty—” He pauses clearing his throat, “easy to find, and sometimes I get sick of the team.”

Your eyes softened, and there was that smile again—gentle, unguarded. “I don’t mind it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, like it was a secret just between the two of you. “I told you I like the company.” Quinn felt his heart skip a beat. It was almost too much, the way your words wrapped around him, making the room feel like it was just the two of you in a sea of shifting people. The way you said it—so simple, yet there was a weight to it that Quinn couldn’t shake. He wasn’t sure if it was the way you looked at him, or how his chest felt too tight with everything he was trying to keep in check.

“Just remember the boy who cried wolf.” You joke, pushing yourself to stand up straight, “You don’t have to be injured to stop by the office, Quinn.” You hum, biting down on your bottom lip as you force the smile on your face to shrink. Quinn knows his mouth is handing open a little, he also knows that if any of his teammates catch him like this he’s going to lose any ‘captains free of teasing’ cards he might have.

Quinn watches as you walk away.

He watches as you send a small wave to Elias who’s on the ice waving matching how you move your hand just a vigorously as Quinn wishes you would wave at him. He frowns as he skates over to his teammate bumping his shoulder into the taller Swedish man who look at his captain as if he’s grown a second head.

“You already have a girlfriend, don’t go flirting with my nurse.” Quinn snaps, skating away and off the ice before Elias can even wrap his head around what he just said.

You had never been one to pay much attention to locker room gossip. Working in sports for almost your entire career, you had heard more than your fair share of things taken completely out of context, and you’d long since learned to tune out the noise. It was part of the job. But lately, something about Quinn’s behavior had been harder to ignore.

At first, it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary. He was one of the team’s star players, after all, and regular check-ups were just part of the game. Hockey was a rough sport, and injuries were a constant concern. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that Quinn wasn’t exactly visiting for serious concerns. Half the time, his visits seemed... unnecessary. You had started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the gossip you usually ignored could actually shed some light on the situation this time.

One afternoon, as you were organizing the supply cabinet, you casually mentioned something to one of the assistant trainers.

“Hey, is it just me, or is Quinn in here like, every other day?” you mused, trying to keep your tone light.

The trainer snorted, clearly amused. “Oh, it’s not just you. Dude practically has a reserved seat at your exam table.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small part of you couldn’t deny the truth in what they were saying. “Yeah, but for what? Last week, he came in because his nose was ‘tingling.’”

The trainer gave you a knowing look. “And you don’t find that suspicious?”

You frowned, the pieces starting to come together. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon,” the trainer chuckled. “You’re smart. Think about it.”

And you did. You thought about every time Quinn had lingered after practice, how he always seemed to show up right when you were free. The way his excuses were getting thinner—like that one time he claimed he’d pulled something, only to be miraculously fine the next day.

Before you could dwell on it too much, the trainer casually added, “I mean, it could have something to do with the fact he called dibs on you, right?”

You froze. “He what?”

The trainer grinned. “Yeah, right after your first offical day. Told the whole locker room.” You blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and something else. Because now that you were really paying attention, all those lingering glances, the way Quinn always seemed to be around—it all started making sense. And the more you thought about it, the harder it became to ignore the way your stomach fluttered whenever he walked into the room.

The truth settled over you like a slow, creeping warmth. You had started noticing Quinn too. The way his eyes always found yours the moment he stepped into the room, the way they lingered just a second too long. The way he sat on the exam table, legs swinging slightly like a kid caught in trouble, waiting for you to give him attention. The way he smirked when you called him out on his ridiculous excuses, only to come back a day later with another flimsy reason to be there.

You hadn’t let yourself think too much about it before, but now?

Now, it was all you could think about.

When Quinn walked into your office this time, there was something different about him. The usual swagger he carried was gone. His right hand was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, uneven and hastily done, and he was walking with more care than usual.

“Quinn, didn’t we just have a talk about you not having to fake injuries to come here?” The words are out with a tone of teasing as Quinn pauses by your office door, the usual half smile not spreading across his face like it usually would. You only just notice the subtle grimace on his face as he moved, trying to hide the pain but not doing a very good job of it.

"Quinn?" you asked, your voice soft with concern. "What happened?"

He shrugged, trying to downplay the situation. “Just a rough hit during practice. Got caught in the corner, didn’t see it coming.”

You frowned, already moving closer to him. Your eyes dropped to his hand, the bandage too tight, the wrapping messy. It was obvious someone hadn’t really known what they were doing, and as you looked closer, your stomach twisted at the sight of his swollen fingers.

“Let me see it,” you said, your tone firm despite the worry growing inside you. Quinn hesitated for a moment, looking like he was considering walking out of the room. But then, with a soft sigh, he unwrapped the bandage. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw the extent of the injury. His hand was badly swollen, the knuckles dark purple, almost black. His fingers were stiff, and the skin around them looked raw. A few cuts ran along the top, but it was the deep purple bruising that made your heart sink.

“Quinn,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though panic threatened to break through. “This doesn’t look good. Are you sure you didn’t break something?”

He winced slightly, instinctively pulling his hand back, though he quickly forced it forward again. “It’s not broken. Just bruised. Probably sprained or something.”

You didn’t buy it. The way his fingers barely moved when you gently flexed them sent a sharp jolt of fear through you. There was no way this was just a sprain. You moved closer, your fingers brushing his wrist as you gently turned his hand. You couldn’t help but notice how warm his skin felt beneath your touch, how the simple contact made your pulse quicken.

“Quinn,” you said, your voice now low and urgent, “you need to get an X-ray. I don’t think this is just bruising. You could’ve fractured something.” He tensed under your touch, and for a brief second, irritation flashed across his face. But then it softened, replaced by something else. Something that made your chest tighten. He looked at you, his gaze lingering on yours, and for a moment, he seemed like he was about to argue. But the words never came.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice. “I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“It’s not fine, Quinn,” you replied, your voice firm, though you could feel the slight tremble in your hands as you reached for fresh bandages. “This could be really bad if it’s not treated properly. Hands are fragile.”

He winced as you carefully began the process of re-wrapping his hand, flinching every time the pressure caused a sharp pain. “Sorry, I’m almost done,” you promised softly, your focus intense as you worked. But you couldn’t ignore the way Quinn’s gaze never left you, the way his eyes traced your every movement, his focus sharp despite the discomfort in his hand. The air between you felt charged, thick with something neither of you could quite name, but something neither of you could ignore.

You finished wrapping his hand, the bandage tight but not too tight, secure yet comfortable. His hand lingered under yours, the warmth of his skin radiating through your fingers, and you felt the beat of his breath against your neck as he shifted slightly on the table.

“Comfortable?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, your gaze flicking up to meet his.

He hesitated, eyes holding yours for just a second longer than necessary. “Yeah,” he muttered, but the softness in his tone made something in your chest tighten.

You glanced up at him, your voice steady but quiet as you spoke. “Okay, it should be secure, but not too uncomfortable. One of the physicians will write you up a referral for the X-ray, but until then, I’m sure you know the deal with R.I.C.E?” Quinn nodded, slowly slipping off the table, though his eyes flicked down at your phone, which had just buzzed on the desk.

“Who’s messaging?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, his expression unreadable.

“Ryan—the doctor,” you replied, not quite looking up as you grabbed your phone, the tension still thick in the air.

Quinn frowned, his jaw tightening. “Do you text often?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What? Quinn, why does that—” And then, like a sudden realisation, the pieces fell into place. The locker room confession. The way he was acting now. “Oh my god.” You say softly, only just notice the way that Quinn’s eyes widen a little in panic, as if he hadn’t fully thought through his questions. “You’re jealous.”

For the first time in a long while, Quinn didn’t deny it “So what if I am?” He watches as your gaze softens, your phone buzzing again on the table, Quinn’s eyes moving from yours to shoot back down to your phone, glaring at the small device as you let out a soft laugh.

“Quinn, it’s my work phone - we only text about work stuff.” You explain slowly, lifting the phone to show him the message on the screen.

Doctor Ryan: the referral’s been forwarded to the usual clinic, make sure he goes there this afternoon for a fast tracked report.

You can see the moment Quinn’s whole body releases, his hand gently pressed against his chest as the pout stays planted firmly on his face. “Don’t worry, I could never replace my favourite patient.”

A few weeks had passed since Quinn’s injury, and although you had made him promise to follow through with seeing a doctor, the tension between you had only grown. He’d kept to his word about getting checked out, he also had almost completely refused to see anyone but you for his rechecks. But, as time went on, other things crept into your mind—the pressure of deadlines, the constant demands of the team. You barely had time to focus on yourself, let alone on Quinn.

But today, something felt different. The minute Quinn walked into your office, you could already tell that this conversation wasn’t going to go how they normally did. He didn’t have the usual pep in his step and was hesitant as he knocked softly on your office door, his hand tightly strapped into it’s brace, you barely acknowledge him as you glance towards him — this time, there was a subtle concern in his eyes, a sense that he was more observant than usual. The way his gaze lingered on you, the way he studied you without saying anything. You were leaning over a stack of paperwork, scribbling notes, trying to catch up on the mountain of tasks that had piled up in the last few days. When Quinn cleared his throat, you looked up, expecting the usual banter.

“What do you need, Quinn?” you asked, your tone light, though a little strained. You hadn’t been sleeping well lately—too many late nights in the office, too many early mornings dealing with practice and managing medical records. Your exhaustion had been creeping up on you, but you tried to ignore it.

Quinn stood at the door, his posture a little straighter than usual, his eyes flicking over you with an intensity that you didn’t quite understand. “You look... off,” he said, voice quieter than normal. “I just wanted to check on you?”

You laughed softly, though there was a slight rasp in your voice that made you immediately regret it. “I’m fine, Quinn. Just tired. You know how it is.” He frowned, taking a few steps closer to the desk, his gaze narrowing slightly as he took in your appearance. Your eyes were a little too dull, your skin a little too pale. Even your usual sharp movements seemed slower, less deliberate.

“I don’t know, you don’t look ‘fine,’” he said, his voice dropping in concern. “You’ve been like this the last couple of days. You’re not getting sick, are you?” You waved him off with a half-smile, trying to brush off the worry in his tone.

“I’m not sick. Just stretched thin, that’s all. It’s been a crazy week. A few too many late nights.” You met his gaze, your heart racing slightly at the intensity in his eyes. It was rare for him to sound this serious, to be this concerned over something so small. But you couldn’t let him see that it was bothering you. You weren’t about to admit that the exhaustion had been catching up to you.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured him, the words coming out with a little more force than you intended.

Quinn didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded slowly, his gaze softening as he watched you. “Alright, but if you feel worse, you should probably go home.”

You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips pulling tight. “Thanks, Quinn. I’ll be fine,” you reassured him, though the words didn’t come with the usual ease. The exhaustion was creeping in on you, and something in your chest tugged uncomfortably at the lie, but you weren’t ready to admit it. Not yet.

"Lets take a look at that hand." As you stood to lead him to the exam table, the quick motion sent a light wave of dizziness through your head. Your vision flickered at the edges, and for a moment, the floor seemed to tilt slightly. You blinked hard, gripping the edge of your desk, willing the feeling to pass. It had been happening more frequently lately—those sudden, disorienting spells that lasted only a few seconds, but they left you unsettled.

You pushed the sensation aside, but there was a heaviness in the pit of your stomach you couldn’t ignore. The subtle ache in your joints was there too—something you’d learned to live with because of your autoimmune condition. But today? It was worse. The stiffness in your knees, the prickling in your fingers, the slight nausea curling in your stomach. It was all just a little too much. But you’d learned to mask it, to power through.

When you reached the table, Quinn was already standing there, one hand resting casually against the bed. But his eyes locked on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He was watching you too closely—more closely than usual—and something about the way he lingered at the threshold made you suddenly self-conscious.

You forced a smile. “I’m good. Just got up too fast.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem entirely convinced. “You sure? You look a little pale.” His voice was quieter now, more cautious. It was rare for Quinn to show concern like this, and it was clear that something in your demeanor was making him uneasy. You waved him off with a dismissive gesture - like you had with everyone else all day - though your muscles felt stiff as you tried to move past him.

“Really, I’m fine. Just tired.” You couldn’t risk letting him see the way your heart was racing, the way your breath felt shallow as you fought to steady yourself. It was probably nothing. Just a long week catching up to you. But Quinn didn’t move. His gaze tracked you closely, his eyes narrowing slightly as you made your way down the hall. He seemed to be reading you like a book, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he could see through your carefully constructed mask.

Quinn didn’t say anything else as he slipped onto the exam table, watching you carefully as you slowly unstrapped his hand from the splint, getting him to move each finger to test his range of motion before sending him a quick smile, trying to ignore the throbbing in the back of your head.

“It’s looking good, maybe just another week or two and you should be back in tip top shape.” You smile at him, but the expression feels almost like a grimace, Quinn non-injured hand reaching out to press gently against your forehead, his eyes widening in surprise as he frowns at you.

“You have a fever, are you sure you should be here?” He asks, his gaze soft with concern.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, look you’re my last booking, I’ll head home after we restrap your hand.” You say, the feeling of fatigue growing as you slide the splint onto the back of Quinn’s hand, his gaze watching you move as you strap it back in place, taking a step away from his concern as he slides of the table as soon as you finish.

“Do you need a ride home? I’ll be good to go soon?” Quinn offers quietly, almost silently as you shake your head. But Quinn wasn’t moving. He was still watching you, his eyes intense, reading you in a way you hadn’t expected. The subtle pressure in your chest grew. You needed to tell him. You should tell him. But you didn’t want to make it worse, didn’t want him to feel like he had to fix something that was out of his control.

“I’ll be okay, it’s probably just a cold.” You reassure him, watching as he slowly retreats from your office, only letting out a long breath as you see his figure disappear down the hall, your office door closing as you slide down the wall.

Okay maybe ‘just a cold’ was an understatement.

The sound of the skates scratching against the ice rang through the arena — practice had been tough today, the team getting closer and closer to opening night, which was leading to frustrations building up and overall more aggression in practice. Quinn was distracted as he skated the drill, moving to defend the corner as he comes up behind his teammate barely noticing the slightly lifted stick, the blade slicing sharply against his cheek.

“Fuck.” Quinn curses as he yanks himself away from the group, each of them turning to their captain in concern as he raises his hand to cup his face. “Shit.” He curses again as the first few drops of blood land on his glove, the team trainer reaches him with a towel pressing it up against his face as he motions for him to skate to the bench - his coach patting him on the shoulder as he passes.

Quinn stomps his way to the locker room pulling the towel away from his face to glance down at the towel the slow trickle of blood running down his cheek. The sharp sting on his cheek was the least of Quinn's concerns as Elias’s voice cut through the fog in his mind. “It looks like you need stitches.” His tone was casual, as though he were commenting on the weather, where Elias had gotten his medical degree, Quinn had no clue.

“Yeah, yeah—I'll just go see the nurse, it’s fine,” Quinn muttered, though deep down, the thought of walking down the hall to your office, watching you work your magic as you always did, made his pulse quicken.

It wasn’t just that you were the best at patching him up. It wasn’t just the way you had that quiet way of making him feel safe, of making him feel like maybe, just maybe, he mattered.

It was your hands—always gentle, never rushing, always careful. It was the way your eyes softened when you scolded him, like you saw through his tough exterior to the mess of thoughts and emotions swirling underneath. He swallowed, shaking his head, trying to shake off the images of you.

Focus on the task at hand.

Fix face bleeding. Not daydream about a pretty girl.

But as he trudged down the hallway, the familiar door of the med bay loomed in front of him. His heartbeat drummed against his chest, a dull thud, and he could almost feel the comforting weight of your presence just beyond the door. He knocked, already forming the words, but they caught in his throat the second he opened it.

You weren’t there.

Instead, a stranger sat behind the desk. She was smiling—polite, neutral—but it wasn’t the smile that made Quinn’s stomach churn. It was the sterile, empty feel of the room. It wasn’t the same without you. It was like someone had taken all the life out of the place, leaving behind nothing but cold, clinical efficiency. The faint apple-scented perfume you always wore, the little piles of paperwork you never seemed to quite organise but made everything feel more... alive—gone... well moved to the filing cabinet at the back of the room. His chest tightened, a familiar ache settling deep within him.

“Oh. Uh… you’re new?” Quinn managed to get the words out, though they felt clumsy, like he was fumbling for something to hold onto in the thick fog of unease clouding his brain. He scanned the room, his eyes darting around, looking for any trace of you.

The nurse—a locum, she called herself—raised an eyebrow. “Your regular nurse is out for the week. I’m just the locum,” she said, her voice chirpy but completely impersonal. Her eyes flicked to his cheek, then back up to his face.

“Want me to take care of that for you, hun?” The word ‘hun’ hit him like a slap. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t hide the sudden flinch.

“Why?” he asked, and the word escaped before he could stop it, thick with something he couldn’t name. His stomach twisted.

The locum blinked, clearly thrown by the harshness of his tone. “Because it needs stitches, sweetheart.”

“No,” Quinn snapped, voice tight. He shook his head, the words tumbling out before he could think. “Not that. Why is she out?” His voice dropped, lower now, thick with a weight he wasn’t ready to admit.

The nurse shrugged, completely unaffected. “She just said she was sick.”

Sick.

The word hung in the air, lingering long after the nurse had spoken. It was like a hit to the chest, sudden and brutal, making it hard to breathe. You hadn’t looked well the last time he saw you—pale, tired, even a little... off. But he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. He hadn’t thought much about it. But now? Now, it gnawed at him, each passing second another piece of his peace slipping through his fingers.

What if it was something worse than a cold? What if it was something... serious? Something he should have seen? The thought made him dizzy, his hands trembling as he gripped the towel against his cheek.

What if you were hurt? What if something had happened on the way home, and he hadn’t been there? What if—

His heart pounded, drowning out the nurse’s attempt to coax him toward the bench. "Now, come sit so I can stitch you up," she said, her tone completely unfazed.

But Quinn couldn’t focus. He couldn’t make himself sit there, couldn’t do anything but take a step back. "No," he muttered, his voice shaky. "You’re not my nurse. She won’t like it if you do it." The words came out harsher than he meant, a small whine creeping into his voice that he couldn’t contain. He didn’t care. He turned on his heel, stomping out of the room, the nurse’s protests fading behind him.

He barely heard Elias’s teasing question when he stormed into the locker room. “What are you doing back here? Your cheek is still bleeding.” Quinn didn’t even glance at him. His fingers were already flying across his phone screen, heart hammering in his chest as he typed the only thing that mattered right now.

"She's not there." Quinn dismisses.

Captain Hughes: Where are you? Are you okay?

He slapped a bandaid over the wound trying to stop the bleeding, the motion automatic, but it did nothing to soothe the sick feeling swirling in his gut. Elias watched him with an eyebrow raised, arms crossed. “There should be a locum nurse who can take care of it.”

Quinn shot him a glare. “She’s not my nurse. She’s not fixing anything.” Before Elias could open his mouth, Quinn’s phone buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up with your name. His heart lurched.

“Quinn,” your voice was raspy, tired. It sent a jolt of panic through him. “Why did I get a phone call from the locum?” Your voice sounded strained, like you were barely holding it together.

His hands trembled as he gripped the phone tighter. "Maybe she’s just mad she’s not you?"

There was a brief pause, and then, a sigh—a tired, heavy thing that hit him like a physical blow. "Or because you refused to let her do her job."

He wasn’t listening to the scolding tone in your voice. He couldn’t. His mind was already reeling, his pulse racing. "Where are you?" he demanded, ignoring the scolding. His breath was shallow, anxiety building in his chest. The beeping, the voices in the background—it all felt wrong.

“Nowhere important. I’m just sick.” Another sigh, deeper this time. “Please, let the nurse stitch your face up. It’d be a shame for something so pretty to be ruined.”

Quinn’s mind ground to a halt at your words. Pretty. The heat of it bloomed in his chest, and for a second, he almost forgot about everything else. But then, the beeping, the murmur of voices—it all came crashing back. His heart pounded in his ears.

"This isn’t funny anymore, where are you?" he snapped into the phone, his voice thick with desperation. "I’ll let the nurse look at my face if you tell me where you are, please, just tell me."

Another sigh from the other end, longer this time. "Put Elias on the phone. I know he's there."

Quinn frowned, but there was no room for argument. He handed over the phone, watching Elias’s expression shift from confusion to something darker, more serious. Quinn’s stomach churned as Elias nodded at something you said, his eyes never leaving Quinn as he ended the call.

“Well?” Quinn demanded, his voice tight with frustration.

Elias didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he handed the phone back, face unreadable. “Nurse first. Then I’ll tell you where she is.”

Quinn’s heart sank. The weight of those words hit him like a boulder, and he didn’t need Elias to say more. He knew what it meant. He knew what this was.

You really were sick.

And not just 'a little cold' sick.

His palms were clammy, and his breath was shallow as he walked back to the med bay, each step heavier than the last. The locum nurse glanced up at him when he entered, her expression still vaguely annoyed. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about her or her efficiency. His jaw was tight as he dropped onto the bench.

“So, you changed your mind?” the nurse mused, but Quinn didn’t respond. He didn’t resist when she tilted his face, cleaning the wound with gentle pressure, though every part of him was screaming for you. His phone felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket, but he didn’t check it. Not yet.

The nurse worked quickly, efficiently, but it wasn’t you. It wasn’t the way you always made him feel like he mattered. The silence between them was oppressive, and all he could think about was what Elias hadn’t told him. His mind raced, cycling through all the worst possibilities as the nurse finished stitching him up. When she was done, she stepped back, a satisfied little hum escaping her lips. “There,” she said, her voice flat. “All set. Try not to pick at it.”

"Thank you," he muttered, the words coming out with little more than a breathless rasp. He could barely bring himself to meet the nurse’s eyes, his mind already elsewhere. Without waiting for any sort of response, he shoved himself to his feet. His legs felt shaky, like they might give way under the weight of it all, but he forced himself to move. He didn’t have time to dwell on anything else.

He pushed past the nurse and stepped into the hallway, the stark fluorescent lights buzzing above him. Elias was waiting there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with his usual half-amused expression.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about Elias’s curiosity or the way his teammate was watching him, measuring him. The only thing that mattered in that moment was getting to you, making sure you were okay. Quinn’s breath came faster as he fumbled for his keys, the cold metal jarring against his clammy fingers. His mind was already spinning ahead, imagining you lying in some sterile hospital room, your face pale, the machines beeping in the background. His pulse raced at the thought, his chest tightening as if it were collapsing in on itself.

“She’s in the hospital,” Elias confirms, his voice slow, deliberate. There was a heaviness in his words that Quinn didn’t like. A hesitation. He wasn’t sure what that hesitation meant, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Elias was looking at him differently now, almost studying him. “She said it was minor and not to worry too much. I’ll text you the ward and room number.”

Quinn’s body froze, the air around him growing colder by the second. His stomach dropped, a nauseous swirl of panic twisting in his gut. Minor? He had heard you—the faint sound of beeping, voices in the background. That wasn’t minor.

Being in the hospital wasn't minor.

His mind reeled. Why hadn’t you told him?

"What are you looking at?" he snapped, his voice harsher than he meant, the frustration slipping through the cracks in his composure. He looked at Elias sharply, the unease in his chest pushing him to lash out, to try and steady himself in the only way he knew how—by focusing on something else, anything else.

Elias didn't immediately respond, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if weighing the tension in the air. For a moment, Quinn thought his friend might just leave him to stew in his own panic, but then Elias’s lips parted, and the question came out, soft but piercing.

“Nothing. It’s just... you really like her, don’t you?” Quinn blinked, the question catching him off guard. He wasn’t prepared for it, not now, not when every nerve in his body was on fire. He shot Elias a sharp look, his thoughts racing in a hundred different directions.

“Why are you acting like it’s a secret?” Quinn muttered, his voice rough and laced with something he refused to examine. The words were automatic, a shield he threw up to protect himself from the truth—truths that had always been simmering beneath the surface but that he had never dared to confront. His fingers gripped his phone tighter, the details of your hospital room now lighting up the screen. His thumb flew over the screen to read the message, but it was almost as if he couldn’t process the information fast enough.

“Of course I like her,” he said quietly, almost too quietly, like the words weren’t meant for anyone else’s ears but his own. It wasn’t like him to admit something so simple. It wasn’t like him to let it slip out so easily. His voice softened, and for the first time, there was something vulnerable in it—something raw that Quinn had never shown anyone. "What’s not to like?"

The words felt heavy in his chest, but they weren’t the words that mattered. It wasn’t about whether you were likeable—it was about the fear twisting inside him, the knot in his stomach, and the thought of losing you that made everything else seem insignificant.

Without another word, he shoved his phone in his pocket and turned to leave, his footsteps heavy with purpose. Elias didn’t say anything else, but Quinn could feel his teammate’s eyes on him, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

As he rushed past Elias, he slapped him on the shoulder, the touch brief but somehow grounding. He didn’t have time to think about what just happened, about the way Elias was looking at him, or about the question that had been hanging in the air between them. Everything else could wait.

He had to get to you.

Quinn's heart hammered as he sprinted through the corridors, each step bringing him closer to you and the gnawing fear he couldn’t shake. The sterile smell of the hospital mingled with the sense of panic that clawed at his chest, making it harder to breathe with every passing second. He barely registered the hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the murmurs of staff going about their work—everything was drowned out by the steady pounding in his ears.

He reached the ward. The cold, harsh lights of the hallway illuminated the pale green walls, the faint scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. His legs felt heavy, almost like they weren’t his own, as he approached the nurse’s station. “Hi, I’m looking for room 34?” Quinn says softly the nurse sending him a soft smile, before pointing to the left the closed door with a large ’34’ printed besides it.

“Hey, when you go in there can you tell her that she owes me a rematch for the card game we played last time she was here.” The nurse chuckles a little as she talks, Quinn just nodding as his words sink deep into the pit of his stomach.

Last time she was here?

Quinn knocks on the heavy wooden door, hearing a small hum before he pushes it open - the sight of you alert and perched in your bed, your laptop sitting on the over bed table, a very bright coloured movie playing on the screen. You send him a guilty smile as you slide your headphones off your head, patting the empty space on the bed in front of you.

Quinn can’t help the way he tracks the IV in the top of your hand, or the way your oversized shirt seems to hang a little looser than it’s supposed to. His stomach turned as he stepped into the room, his mind already overrun with a thousand questions.

What was going on? Why hadn’t you told him anything? He didn’t even know what to say—how could he? He had walked in expecting to find you in some sterile, lifeless hospital room, but this? This was worse. The brightness of the screen, the comfortable setting, the familiar feeling you seemed to have sitting in a hospital bed.

You smiled at him, but it was a soft, apologetic thing—nothing like the usual spark in your eyes. Something about it made his heart ache. He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. He had to get it together.

��You look like hell,” you said lightly, though there was a weariness in your voice that he couldn’t ignore. Quinn’s hand tightened on the doorframe. The faint beeping of a monitor near your bed added to the tension in the air, a constant reminder that whatever was going on, it wasn’t just a common cold.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You were young, healthy. The flu wasn’t meant to land someone in hospital.

“You said it was just the flu?” Quinn asked, his voice low, not quite angry, but far too thick with concern to mask. He took a step closer, but still, the distance between you seemed too far, like some invisible wall had risen between you. You shrugged, but it wasn’t the usual carefree gesture.

“It was just the flu.” You start, hesitant to continue, “Quinn, I have rheumatoid arthritis and because of that I have to take immune suppressants to manage it.” You explain slowly, patting the end of the bed again as you watch him step further into the room slowly making his way to the side of your bed. “Sometimes when I get the flu or any kind of sickness really my body is so busy fighting itself that it doesn’t focus of the other things.” Quinn sinks slowly onto the mattress, his hands balled tightly in front of him as he listens carefully.

“The nurse said you’ve been here before?” You just hum in response, scooting a little further forwards until your knee brushes his.

“I’m at higher risk of complications with standard illnesses cause of my condition so I’ve been here a few times for pneumonia — usually I just need some antibiotics and I’ll be okay, but I guess I was a little extra run down this time.” You let out a nervous laugh as you continue to explain.

“You could’ve told me.” Quinn sighs, still not sure what to do, his eyes tracing over the wires hooked up to your body, the IV line protruding from your hand.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you said, but the words didn’t hold their usual strength. Instead, they sounded almost too tired to even believe. Quinn bit the inside of his cheek, his pulse rising again.

“Worry me?” he repeated, almost incredulously. His chest tightened with frustration, with a deep, gnawing fear that made him feel like he was losing control.

“You thought just not saying anything and disappearing off the face of the earth wouldn’t worry me?” His voice was sharper now, a reflection of the panic he hadn’t realised he’d been holding back. “I thought— it doesn’t matter what I thought.” Quinn swallows down the growing lump in his throat. His protective side is roaring, demanding answers, but there’s a deeper, quieter feeling that tugs at him: the fear that, despite all the times you’ve taken care of him - even when he was making it up — you’ve been hiding something.

His inability to fix this situation, to make it better for you, eats at him. He wants to ease your pain, wants to do something, but he doesn’t know how. And that, more than anything, terrifies him. The panic, the guilt, the sense of losing control—all of it spirals within him, and he’s caught between the urge to shield you and the sharp sting of realising you’ve been suffering alone.

“Quinn?” You call softly, your hand reaching for his as you lace your fingers together pulling it into your lap as you drag his attention away from his own spiralling thoughts and back to you. “I’m going to be okay — they said I might be discharged tonight or early tomorrow.” Quinn closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep, steadying breath. It was hard to breathe around the weight of everything, the knot in his stomach tightening more with every passing second. You weren’t supposed to carry this burden alone. He wasn’t supposed to let you.

“You don’t have to worry.” Your whispered words pull frustration from him as he lets out a long groan.

“What if I want to worry? Did you ever think of that?” You fell silent, staring at him with a mixture of surprise and something softer, almost vulnerable. Quinn swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as his fingers flex in yours. He never realised how much he took your presence for granted until this moment.

Quinn exhaled shakily, his free hand scrubbing over his face as he tried to find the right words. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to just—watch you go through this and act like it’s fine. Like it’s normal. Because it’s not."

Your fingers squeezed his, grounding him, but it wasn’t enough. His pulse was still hammering against his ribs, the adrenaline of running through the hospital halls not yet fading. He had nearly lost his mind wondering why you were here, and now you were sitting here, pale and exhausted, brushing it off like it was just another part of life.

But it wasn’t just another part of his life—because his life didn’t work without you in it, something he'd only just come to realise.

Somehow, someone who everyone thought was just the new nurse - his nurse - has managed to squeeze her way into his heart and he had welcomed it with open arms.

You hesitated, staring at your joined hands before finally meeting his gaze. "I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just... didn’t know how to bring it up. I hate feeling like some fragile thing people need to tiptoe around. It’s not a secret, it’s just—"

"It’s just something you’ve been pushing through without a single person there to help," Quinn cut in, his voice softer now, but no less serious.

"And that’s what kills me. You think I wouldn’t want to know? You think I wouldn’t want to be there? You’re—I want to be there, to take care of you when you're sick or to be someone you can tell these things too. " The room fell into a heavy silence, only broken by the quiet hum of the machines monitoring your vitals. Quinn let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head as he raked a hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea how scared I was?" His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it was enough to make your breath hitch.

You had seen Quinn angry. You had seen him frustrated, annoyed, even exhausted—but this? This was something different. This was raw, unfiltered fear, bleeding into every word, every movement, every breath.

"I just... I never wanted you to feel like you had to worry about me like that," you admitted quietly. "I can handle it, Quinn. I’ve been handling it since I was eighteen."

"You shouldn’t have to handle it alone!" His voice rose, but not in anger—just in sheer, unrestrained emotion. "You keep saying you’re okay, but I don’t want okay. I don’t want to just be the guy who sees you on your good days, who only gets half of you because you’re too damn stubborn to let me in when it really matters. I want to be there for all of it. The bad days. The hard ones. The nights you can’t sleep and the mornings where everything hurts. I want to be the person you call before you end up in a hospital bed, not after." You blinked, your fingers tightening around his as your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something—but nothing came out. Quinn exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as he leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

"You scare the hell out of me," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "Not because of this—not because of your condition, or the hospital, or any of that. You scare me because I don't want to not have you around. Because I care about you so damn much that it physically hurts to think about my life where you’re not apart of it. And I hate that I didn’t know. I hate that I wasn’t there. And I hate that you thought, even for a second, that I wouldn’t want to be." Tears pricked at your eyes, the sheer depth of his words settling into your chest like a weight too heavy to ignore.

You had always known Quinn cared—hell he made it blatantly obvious the second he walked into your office complaining of an itchy arm.

But this?

This was different.

This was more.

Your throat tightened as you shifted, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice thick. "I didn’t mean to scare you or shut you out. I just... I didn’t want to be a burden."

Quinn let out a choked laugh, his eyes shining with something you weren’t sure you had ever seen before. "You could never be a burden. Not to me. Never to me." The weight of the moment hung between you, the truth of it wrapping around you both in a way that felt unshakable, undeniable. His hand squeezed yours, grounding you just as much as you had grounded him. And in that moment, there was nothing left to hide—just the quiet, unspoken understanding that whatever came next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still curled tightly around his. The weight of his words, the sheer rawness of his emotions, settled deep in your chest, tangling with the guilt and fear you hadn’t even realised you were carrying.

“I don’t know how to do this either,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Letting people in, leaning on someone like this… it’s always just been me.”

Quinn’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze unwavering. “Well, it’s not just you anymore.” His grip on your hand tightened, firm, steady—like an anchor. “You’re stuck with me now. I called dibs.” A small, breathless laugh escaped you. His lips quirked at the sound.

“I did hear about something like that.” You can’t help the smile that lights up your face, Quinn’s look mirroring yours as he lifts your hand to his lips pressing a small kiss against your knuckles.

“I knew what I wanted.” Quinn offers with a small shrug, you raised a brow at him, amusement flickering through the lingering emotion in your eyes. “Oh and apparently the nurse out there said you owe her a rematch.”

#nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfic #chronic illness rep

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forkloverr · 2 months ago

Text

↳ mha boys with a chronically ill reader

ft: k.bakugo, i.midoriya, e.kirishima, k.takami, s.aizawa, & t.shigaraki

warnings: none really, some angst for one but the rest is fluff <3

author’s note: this is entirely self indulgent but i wanted to do something for us chronically ill girlies <3 ofc my condition will not be the same as yours, i tried to make it as relatable as possible without being too specific <3

#mha x reader #mha fic #mha smau #bakugo x reader #izuku x reader #kirishima x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #aizawa x reader #shigaraki x reader #chronic illness #fanfic #smau #mha x chronically ill reader

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thesecondhandwoman · 2 months ago

Note

I’ll think of the jist

When reader is well enough to work for ambessa she uses a rollator (walker with like a table/seat) so she can carry multiple things at once that she couldn’t with a cane.

reader interrupts a meeting quietly to give Ambessa something, the room is full of big strong people who look down on sick ppl even if it’s genetic (:/)

They comment on her ability to work and ambessas like Nuh uh she fine brotha and Ambessa thinks nothing of it, reader thinks a lot of it and can’t sleep

lol thank you goodbye

MORE THAN ENOUGH

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: Being Ambessa’s assistant and having chronic pain was difficult, but it was always worse when you tried to help on more manageable days only be to told that you are incapable.

Request: @possessedmagpie

A/N: This is part two of Chronically Ill

The soft light of morning slipped through the towering windows of Ambessa Medarda’s estate, a golden glow painting the cold stone walls. The days always started early in Noxus, the city that never slept, but for you, mornings weren’t a signal to begin. They were another checkpoint in the never-ending cycle of managing your body’s rebellion against itself.

You shifted beneath the thick covers, testing your limbs carefully. The ache that usually gripped you like iron shackles had ebbed to a low thrum today. It wasn’t gone, but it was manageable. Relief flickered in your chest, tempered by caution. You had learned long ago that even “good days” came with limits.

The other constant in your mornings lay beside you, Ambessa, her powerful frame still as she slept, her features softened in the pale light. Despite the countless demands on her time and energy, she always made space for you. She had stayed the night again, likely at your insistence, despite her busy schedule. She’d never admit it, but you suspected she worried about you constantly.

As if sensing your gaze, Ambessa stirred, her amber eyes blinking open. A small smile tugged at her lips as she caught you watching her.

“Good morning, little one,” she murmured, her voice low and warm, still laced with sleep.

“Good morning,” you replied, voice hushed, as though speaking too loudly would break the delicate peace between you.

Her eyes searched your face, her brow furrowing slightly. “How are you feeling?” she asked, the question laden with genuine care.

You considered her words, stretching carefully to test the limits of your body. “Better,” you said after a moment. “Not great, but I think I can manage today.”

Ambessa propped herself up on one elbow, her expression skeptical but not dismissive. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I want to try. I can’t stand feeling useless, Ambessa.”

“You’re never useless,” she said firmly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Your value isn’t measured by how much you can do. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” you murmured, though the weight in your chest said otherwise.

Her hand lingered against your cheek, her touch both grounding and reassuring. “Alright,” she said after a moment. “But promise me you’ll be careful. No pushing yourself too hard. If you need to stop, you stop. Understood?”

“Understood,” you said softly, leaning into her palm.

She pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering just long enough to make your heart ache in the best way.

By mid-morning, the estate was bustling with activity. Servants and guards moved swiftly through the halls, their boots echoing against the polished stone floors. The sheer size of the estate could be overwhelming, even intimidating, but today you felt determined.

The rollator was your lifeline, its sturdy frame and built-in seat allowing you to navigate the estate without collapsing. It wasn’t a perfect solution—there were still moments when the pain flared unexpectedly, threatening to rob you of the strength to keep going—but it gave you a sense of independence.

Today, you carried an important correspondence marked with the crest of General Vessar. The message had arrived early, its contents urgent enough to require Ambessa’s immediate attention. Despite the challenges of moving through the estate, you were determined to deliver it personally.

The grand hall where Ambessa was meeting her advisors loomed ahead, the heavy double doors closed but not impenetrable. Pausing just outside, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself against the ache radiating through your legs.

The moment you entered, the room fell silent. The rollator’s wheels squeaked faintly as you moved across the polished floor, your presence a disruption in the midst of their intense discussions.

At the head of the long table, Ambessa sat tall and imposing, her amber eyes sharp and focused. The sight of her sent a pang of comfort through your chest; she was the one constant in a world that often felt too harsh to navigate.

“Ambessa,” you said, your voice soft but steady.

Her gaze snapped to you, her expression shifting immediately. The hard edge she wore in these meetings melted away, replaced by a warmth that seemed out of place amidst the cold, calculating figures around her.

“Little one,” she greeted, her voice low and tender.

You grabbed the sealed letter on the table of your rollator as you moved it a bit closer and held it out to her. “This arrived this morning. From General Vessar.”

She shifted in her chair slightly as she turned to face you, taking the letter from your hands with a subtle nod. Her fingers brushed yours briefly—a fleeting touch that carried more reassurance than words ever could.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft enough that only you could hear.

But the moment was short-lived.

“She’s still working for you?” a voice called from the far end of the table.

Your chest tightened.

The man who spoke leaned back in his chair, his tone dripping with disbelief. “How can someone in her condition handle the responsibilities you’ve given her?”

Another advisor chimed in, her voice quieter but no less cutting. “It does seem unwise. The demands of this role require someone—”

“Capable,” the first man interrupted. “Someone who isn’t constantly compromised.”

The words struck like a blade, each syllable carving into your carefully built armor.

Ambessa’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood, her movements deliberate and commanding.

“Enough,” she said, her voice sharp and unforgiving.

The room fell silent.

Ambessa’s gaze swept over the advisors like a storm about to break. Her presence was a force of nature, and for a moment, you pitied the fools who dared challenge her judgment.

“You will not question her competence,” she said, her tone cold enough to freeze fire. “Do any of you doubt my ability to judge who is fit for their role?”

No one dared respond.

“Let me make something very clear,” she continued, her voice like a blade. “Y/N has proven her worth time and time again. She is stronger and more useful than any of you could hope to be, and I will not tolerate such ignorance in my presence.”

Her words were a shield, protecting you from their scorn, but they couldn’t stop the tears that welled in your eyes. You wanted to speak, to defend yourself, but the weight of their judgment was crushing.

Ambessa turned to you, her expression softening. “Go rest, little one,” she said gently.

You nodded, your throat too tight to form words. As you left the room, the rollator steady beneath your hands, you couldn’t shake the sting of their words.

Back in your quarters, the pain returned, not the physical ache in your joints, but the sharp, unrelenting sting of humiliation and self-doubt. You sank onto the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands.

The echoes of their voices replayed in your mind, each word a reminder of what you couldn’t do, of how the world saw you. No matter how hard you worked, no matter how much you gave, it was never enough.

You didn’t hear the door open, but you felt the mattress dip beside you. A familiar hand rested on your shoulder, warm and grounding.

“Little one,” Ambessa said softly.

You wiped at your eyes, turning away from her. “I’m fine,” you lied.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close until your head rested against her shoulder.

“They don’t understand,” she said after a moment. “They never will. But you don’t need their approval.”

“I just… I wanted to help,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I wanted to prove I could still do something right.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” she said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re more than enough. Don’t let them take that away from you.”

Her words wrapped around you like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of despair.

“I’m tired,” you admitted, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your chest. “I’m so tired, Ambessa.”

“I know,” she murmured, her voice full of quiet empathy. “But you don’t have to carry this alone. I’m here, I always will be.”

You whimpered a little, holding back tears as you sunk into her arms as she lied down on the bed with you, stroking the back of your head for comfort.

She stayed with you long into the night, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. When sleep finally came, it was with the comforting knowledge that no matter how heavy the world felt, Ambessa would always be there to share the burden.

A/N: I got a peace offering to write this, loving it.

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eminthegrave · 12 days ago

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I realised that plot holes are only holes because you keep forgetting to repair them. If you actually sew them up with a bunch of made up shit occasionally, then they won't get so big. I somehow made my world building make sense by just adding reasons why its like that.

Why doesn't anyone know about the other plains of the dodecahedron? well obviously it's because everyone thinks you just fall off the edge and whatever you see after that is The After Life. You know, folklore and totally not a complete plot hole with an half arsed explanation slapped on top.

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atley01 · 6 months ago

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Tips for all of my alternative & Chronically ill/ disabled friends!

A big thing that's helped me feel more comfortable accommodating my disability is finding accessibility tools that reflect my personality / interests.

I should put a disclaimer that making disability "aesthetic" should not be the most important thing about your health! I do this where I can to help me accept my disability.

Here are some alt accessibility tools I've found / made & utilized for myself!

1. If you're prone to nausea:

Anti-nausea meds work, but I also find that peppermints work just as well! I always have mints on me. At home, I've stored them in this coffin container!

I do keep a few of these mints in my bag, as well as ginger hard candies (they taste very strong, but are VERY efficient). I got the peppermints at Dollar tree, and they've genuinely been a life saver.

Alternatively, I've found this adorable ouija board altoids container that has mints in it!

The mints are even fun-shaped! I also saw other horror-movie themed altoid containers in-store as well. Since they're tiny, they dont work well for severe nausea, but they are still helpful!

2. If you struggle with temperature-regulation:

For me, my hands and feet are always FREEZING, but my core will be super warm. What has helped me a lot has been gloves and fuzzy socks!

I have a lot of spooky gloves like this, but I prefer the fingerless ones because I can still use my phone and be warm at the same time! I've also heard my friends who are wheelchair users say gloves can help protect your hands if you use a manual wheelchair. Another added bonus is that certain gloves can help limit mobility for those of you who struggle with hypermobility in your hands.

3. Do you have noise-canceling headphones? Decorate them!

I decorated my N/C headphones in shark stickers because sharks are my special interest!

These are Soundcore Life Q30's. I have gotten compliments on the stickers many times! You could put halloween stickers on yours or decorate your headphones in other ways! I've seen people crochet horns onto the headband portion of their headphones.

4. I would recommend any chronically ill person carry a cup around to stay hydrated:

ESPECIALLY If you need electrolytes. You can either have a drink like propel or powerade in your cup (or any drink of your choice, and you could put electrolyte packets in there).

This specific cup isn't the best at keeping my drink cold, but it holds a decent amount of liquid! And it's spooky. If you're someone who struggles to drink enough water, I've found that getting a fun cup helps me a lot!

5. Make communication bracelets!

If I'm having a difficult time voicing my needs, or I'm in a verbal shutdown, these bracelets can come in handy for me.

I'll either wear them on my wrist when needed or present them to my friends so they can read the bracelet and understand what I need. I keep them on a keychain that way I dont lose them and can transport them easily. An example of some of the phrases I've turned into bracelets is; "No spoons," "spoon debt," "verbal shutdown," and "flashbacks," (for when I'm having a PTSD episode.) You could make a bracelet with the medical condition you have as a DIY medical-alert bracelet. I added tiny spoon charms to some of my bracelets because I thought it was funny.

5. Mobility aids!

Decorate your mobility aids with things like stickers, kandi, lights, etc! Pinterest, instagram, and tiktok have a lot of good ideas. You can easily customize your mobility aids to look spooky or look however you want them to!

6. Bags!

I know that for me, I NEED to carry a bag around whenever I go out because it has important medical items that I need, but it also keeps all my important items like keys, id, ect, in one spot so that I dont forget / lose them. SOME spooky bags are expensive, but you could find a plain black bag at a thrift store or walmart and accessorize it with patches, keychains, and pins! I've seen people paint designs onto their bags before as well.

• You dont have to spend a lot of money on your accessibility tools!

Find ways to DIY them, or get them secondhand! You could even try working with household items you already have! A lot of these items, or items very similar to it, can be found at the dollar tree - even the materials needed to make the beaded bracelets! (Outside of the spoon charms)

Thats all!

If I think of more, you'll see me again! Be spooky, and be kind to yourself!

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pressureplus · 6 months ago

Note

Chronically ill fan here! I’m currently having a costochondritis flare up because I overworked myself. (My sternum cartilage is inflamed and uncomfortable) All I want is cuddles and kisses and to be taken care of while I try to sleep it off. Could I possibly get romantic Sebastian and fem chronically ill reader where Sebastian cares for her during a costochondritis flare if that’s okay?

You don’t have to do any research on costochondritis either. At surface level it’s just inflammation and pain mainly in the sternum/rib area that can be aggravated by heavy lifting

Chronically ill representation in readers is rare and I’ve never seen costochondritis rep.

I hope this is okay! Thank you so much!

As someone who is also chronically ill, I felt this in my bones. I got you

Sensitive, Sensitive

Pairings: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Chronically ill!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: Pet Names (Sunshine, Love)

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

“Please- watch your hands.” You whine as Sebastian goes to pick you up. The additional pushing from his palms making your bones feel like they’re going to crack under all that pressure. You already felt like you weren’t intaking enough air, though you’re sure you are. That and the pain that you’d once almost worried could’ve been a heart attack waiting to happen? Yeah you didn’t need any more pain. You knew about your flare ups, knew you shouldn’t push yourself too hard, and you’d gone and done it anyway. Was it a bad idea? Yes but you’ve got to survive down here somehow, you’re not gonna eat if you lay around all day.

Your boyfriend, Sebastian, on the other hand already looked concerned. His hands taking the heavy box you were carrying right out from your grasp. His gaze flicking around the multitude of snacks you’d ripped out from vending machines in your desperation. You must’ve brought in at least several boxes of the stuff and while he hadn’t been too worried at first, the pained breaths you made sure changed his mind now. Your hand came up to almost attempt to soothe the ache with gentle rubbing, and maybe it helped a little but not nearly enough. Still you turned, getting ready to go back out with a new box when Sebastian coiled his tail around your legs and hips.

“Not so fast.” He hums, placing the box to the side and leaning down to your height.

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going back out? I’m not done emptying the-”

“You’re done now.”

“What?”

“I said, you’re done now. Come on, Sunshine, we’re laying down.” He’s careful to lift you up. This time avoiding the area causing you the most pain. He’s gentle, lifting you up by the hips and gently pressing you against his oddly comfortable body. His snake-like form slithering into the backroom and right up to your makeshift bed. Although it certainly wasn’t as comfortable as the ones at home, it would do. It always did. He was gentle when he laid you atop the mattress and tugged a thicker, comfortable blanket over top of you. His body sliding up against you, wrapping himself as close to you as possible. You attempt to wiggle out only the once before giving in, in far too much pain to wrestle yourself free this time.

“We’re going to lay in bed until you feel better.”

“It’s probably not going to go away for a while, and the pain isn’t going to fully subside anyway. You have to work- it’s all you do. You don’t have to lay here with me just because I’m hurting.”

“Y/N, I don’t mind laying with you at all. Why would I?” He softens and tilts your head to him. His lips pressing against yours as gently as he can, soft and sweet before pulling back from you. The fins on the sides of his head doing that cute little wiggle you’d grown so accustomed to seeing.

“I’m supposed to keep you safe, that includes from yourself. You’re not going to overwork yourself any further than you already have. What you are going to do though is rest.” An arm wraps around your waist, another combs through your hair and the third functions as a comfortable pillow for you.

“You’re sure I can just lay down here for a while?”

“You’re being an idiot, why would I be upset at you for resting?” He hits you with immediate sass and playfully nips at your jaw. His hand that lays over your hip rubs slow little circle against it.

“You don’t have to be a dick.”

“I’m not, I just know you aren’t always the brightest crayon in the box. I don’t want you hurting, Love. Now quiet down a bit and get some rest, hm? I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

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creative-caramel-coffee · 7 months ago

Text

Off Day Or Day Off

Summary: Reader has a bad day due to a chronic illness they struggle with (POTS). Luckily Lizzie and Scarlett look after her.

Tw: headache, mild pots, exhaustion / fatigue, pain medicine, mentions of passing out

Words: 2129

A/n sorry for such a long absence I got diagnosed with POTS so I have been in and out of the hospital for appointments for the past few weeks. So, this fic is kinda just me projecting. Also, POTS stands for Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (for those who don’t know). Let me know if you want a part 2.

You knew today was going to be hard when you opened your eyes to see your alarm had already been going off for a good half hour.

Whilst not something that was unusual for you, it did pose some insight into how the rest of the day may go. Taking a deep breath, you gathered the strength to sit up, still feeling exhausted to your bones and wanting nothing more than to lay back down and keep sleeping.

Reaching out to smack the alarm in order to finally get it to shut up, it took a few tries to finally hit the button.

You were tired despite having slept over the recommended eight hours. You were tired when you woke up and you had no doubt you would be tired when you went to sleep.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed you braced yourself to stand up. Once on your feet you stayed upright for a good half a second before sitting back down hard.

Yep, today was an off day.

Trying again you managed to stick the landing this time, but still had to pause to wait for the patches in your vision to clear up first before doing anything.

You were vaguely aware of a dull ache in your temples and a general feeling of malaise and fatigue across your whole body.

You leant against the wall of your bedroom while pulling on some fresh pant and swapping out your pyjama shirt for a clean and presentable top.

You fought to stay upright while hopping around to stick the socks over your cold feet.

Throwing your notebook and pencil case into your backpack before pulling your laptop off the charge you added it to your bag and slung it over your shoulder, not bothering to do up the zip just yet.

Scanning the room your eyes caught on the small medical pouch were you had left it the day before. Groaning you circled back to grab it and triple check it was stocked with extra electrolyte packets before tossing it into your already full bag.

Your footsteps were heavy on the stairs as you plodded down to the kitchen, the voices of your little sister and mother only seeming to aggravate your growing headache.

You gripped the railing as you descended the stairs just in case your fatigue flared anymore than it already had.

As you shuffled into the kitchen you distantly listened to your mum wish you a good morning. Feeling tired and slightly annoyed at the whole situation you mumbled something incoherent back to her.

Scarlett had been your mother for almost ten years now after the adoption had gone through. You had met on the set for one of her earlier marvel films and due to your less-than-ideal situation and close bond with the actress she had adopted you.

It hadn’t been until a few months into living with her that she begun to take notice of your fatigue and various other issues. She had been with you every step of the process to get diagnosed and despite your fears she had stayed by your side.

You had been managing your tachycardia for a long time now and the symptoms of POTS weren’t as intense as they once were. However, from time to time you still had flare up which caused you a lot of heart ache and suffering.

As you slid into your place at the kitchen table Scarlett set down a plate of bacon and toast for you whilst she continued listening to the constant chatter stemming from your younger sister.

Scarlett nodded along with Rose’s story as she observed you closely. She had noted something was off almost straight away and knew you were doing your best to keep up a front.

It was Scarlett’s day off and as such she was tasked with taking Rose to school as Colin had headed into work early for a meeting with the writers.

You weren’t too interested in the food your mother had given you. Despite loving bacon and usually chomping it down with gusto you felt gross and tired.

Scarlett took note of your slow pace and droopy eyes as she took roses dishes back to the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher.

Scarlett had been trying to help you get better at advocating for yourself by simply making you ask for her help. She hoped it would help you speak up for yourself more now that you had more recognised needs. However, she also knew when to step in and simply help if you didn’t ask first.

She frowned at the sight of your backpack slung over the back of the chair knowing full well she didn’t want you going to uni if you were unwell.

As you continued to poke at your food with a fork and a bored expression that barely masked the exhaustion Scarlett sent rose to get dressed.

“Alright munchkin, what’s going on?” Scarlett said sitting down next to you.

“‘M fine mum. Just tired, I didn’t sleep well.” You grumbled still mining away at the edge of the slightly burnt toast with your fork.

Scarlett frowned as she knew you had been asleep before ten after she had poked her head in at around nine fifty to see if you were up.

“In that case maybe you should stay home today and get some rest sweetheart.” Scarlett said softly.

“No. No, I’m ok.” You said shaking your head which wasn’t a great idea as the patches reappeared in your vision.

“Alright.” Scarlett said admitting defeat for now. “I have to take rose to school; do you need a lift to uni?” She asked and you nodded pushing away the full plate of food. “Ok then come get your shoes on.”

You nodded again and stood. Just as she had expected Scarlett watched as you swayed on your feet slightly, blinking rapidly to try and clear your vision as your hand blindly reached for the table to provide the support you needed dot stay upright.

“Alright. No.” Scarlett said. “Definitely not. You’re staying here sweet girl.”

“But i’m-“ you begun only to be cut off.

“If the next words out of your mouth are “I’m fine.” I’ll make you take the whole week off.” Scarlett said and your lips snapped shut. “Go make yourself comfortable on the couch, I’ll have lizzie come stay with you while I’m out. She has the day off too and before you start, I’m sure she would like to spend the time with you.” Scarlett said before you could protest hindering the younger actresses schedule with your change of plans.

Before you could protest Scarlett gave you a look that kept the words in your throat from leaving.

“You’re not a problem y/n. Lizzie loves to spend time with you, and it makes her feel better to be able to help you out. Plus, I don’t want to leave you here alone in case you need something or pass out.” She said sternly but kindly.

“But I haven’t passed out before.” You grumbled.

“There’s a first time for everything.” Scarlett said. “Now go get comfy while I call Lizzie.” She said pressing a kiss to your head and giving you a light shove in the direction of the living room.

As you settled into a small nest on the couch you begun scrolling through Disney plus before settling on something to watch. You heard Scarlett talking on the phone in the kitchen before she appeared and handed you a water bottle which no doubt was filled with electrolytes. She spoke to Lizzie for a bit longer before coming back once the call was done.

“Drink.” She instructed, nodding to the bottle in your lap. “Lizzie will be over soon. I have to take rose in and then we can have a movie day and see if Lizzie wants to join us.”

“Ok.” You mumbled feeling bad for ruining everyone’s plans.

“None of that. We love you and we would rather spend the day making you feel better than knowing you’re not ok and doing what we planned.” Scarlett said as she picked up roses backpack and grabbed her trainers from the doorway.

Rose came and hugged you goodbye before continuing her endless chatter about something or other as she and Scarlett disappeared out the doorway. Scarlett blowing you a kiss as she left.

Snuggling down into the blankets you felt your eyelids droop as the show played on in the background.

What couldn’t have been more than five minutes later the doorbell rang before the door opened. You knew Lizzie had a a key, but she always rung the doorbell before she let herself in just to let you know it was her.

You heard the door shut and the sound of her taking off her shoes before she came upstairs.

“Y/n?” She called out as she walked down the hallway.

“In here.” You said barely shouting.

A moment later Lizzie entered the room, her face looking a little sad at the sight of you all bundled up and sleepy, your arms wrapped around your water bottle as your eyes drifted shut.

“Hiii.” You mumbled quietly.

“Hi sweet girl. Oh, look at you, it’s not a good day, is it?” She asked as she took the seat beside you on the couch.

“No.” You huffed as you shuffled over into her side.

Lizzie’s hands went straight to your hair as she brushed her fingers through it. She guided your head to her lap and gently began braining locks of your hair. The feeling of her fingers on your scalp relaxed you as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Have some more to drink first baby, then you can have a nap, okay?” She said helping you sit up and sip some of the electrolyte drink before guiding you back to her lap as her hands took their place back in your hair.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep again.

The next time you woke up Lizzie’s hand was still gently massaging your head which was helping with the now whopping headache you had. You shifted slightly prompting Lizzie to look down from the show she had put on and see you were awake.

“Hi sweetheart, how are we feeling love?” She asked softly.

“Headache, tired and lousy.” You mumbled turning your face into her stomach making her chuckle softly at your cuteness.

“That’s no good.” She said frowning now she registered your words. “Want me to get your mum to bring some Panadol and a snack?” She asked and you nodded into her stomach.

Lizzie gently reached down and placed her hands over your ears to shield you from the noise as she began calling out to Scarlett who you hadn’t noticed return.

“Scar car you bring y/n/n some Panadol and a snack!” She called and you faintly heard your mum’s response before Lizzie was prompting you to drink some more of the electrolyte drink in your water bottle.

“Sorry I know this wasn’t what you two wanted to do on ur day off” you said to both actresses when Scarlett came in with some cupcakes, she and rose had baked the day before and a strip of Panadol.

“Honey…” Lizzie said looking sad. “I’ll always be here when you need me.” She said softly.

“Yeah, I can’t get rid of you.” Scarlett joked making all three of you laugh.

When you winced at the noise Scarlett went straight to mum mode as she popped out two of the tablets and put them in your hand before nodding to the water bottle.

“Alright, what are we watching?” Scarlett asked situating herself on your other side and pulling your legs into her lap, so you were laid across the two of them.

“Whatever y/n/n wants.” Lizzie said chucking the remote to you.

“I’m thinking marvel.” You grinned making both women groan in protest.

You put on age of ultron and barely twenty minutes in Lizzie’s gentle head scratches had lulled you back into the arms of sleep.

POTS was hard to live with but with all the people in your life supporting you it was bearable.

Part 2

@barbarasstar @charlie56

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littlemissomega · 2 years ago

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I'm Here

steve rogers x endometriosis!reader

Summary: Steve Roger's girlfriend has endometriosis and gets her period

Warnings: chronic pain, reader has endometriosis which causes extremely painful periods, reader gets her period, throwing up, crying, little suggestive but not really (Y/N thinks Steve is gonna do something sexual for a second, but he doesn't)

The sound of Y/N’s crying greets Steve as soon as he opens the door. He drops his back and dashing up the stairs, pushing the bedroom door open.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” Steve asks.

Y/N is laying on the bed, on top of a pillow with one heating pad on her stomach and another on her back. Her legs are tucked under her; calves flush with her thighs.A small trash can sits next to her head.

“I-It hurts so bad,” Y/N sobs, pressing her face into the pillow, “Feels l-like I’m dying,”

Dread fills Steve, but he realizes what happened. He gently lowers himself on the bed next to her, pulling Y/N’s hair out of her face and tying it up.

“Did you get your period, honey?” he asks gently.

Y/N nods weakly, jolting as pain shoots through her.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I know it hurts. Did you take your meds already?”

Y/N nods again, sniffling.

Steve places a hand on y/n’s shoulder blades, causing her to flinch before melting into his touch. He rubs light circles in place.

“What can I get for you?”

“I…I don't feel so good,” Y/N whimpers before lunging forward, barely grabbing the trash can before she throws up into it.

“Oh baby,” Steve murmurs, “It’s okay, I’m here, just get it all out,”

Steve wipes the tears from her cheeks as Y/N heaves into the trash can. Her face is sticky and hot

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Y/N chokes out between heaves.

“It’s okay, princess, there’s nothing to apologize for. I got you,” he soothes.

When Y/N finally finishes emptying the contacts of her stomach into the trash can, she collapses back against the pillows. Sharp pain shoots through her lower stomach, back, legs, and ribcage. She sniffles, shifting to try and ease the pain.

“I’m so sorry you aren’t feeling, well, baby. What can I get for you? I’m here,”

“Ca-can you get me a cold w-w-wash cloth?” Y/N stutters.

“Of course, honey. I’ll be right back,” Steve voices, rubbing her back for more time before standing up. He grabs the trash can, “I’ll clean this up. Just holler or bang on the wall if you need me,”

Y/N nods into the pillow. Steve hurries into the bathroom, emptying the trash can into the toilet and cleaning it out. He grabs 2 small towels and wets them with cool water, wringing them out.

“Steve?” he hears Y/N whimpers.

“I’m coming, baby!”

Steve hurries back into the bedroom, setting the trash can back down next to her head.

“I’m right here,” he soothes, using one of the towels to wipe her sweat-slicked face and lips clean. He takes the other one and presses it to her forehead. Y/N lets out a sigh of relief at the cool sensation. She reaches and grabs Steve’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly.

Y/N jolts forward again, whimpering into the pillow. Steve continues rubbing gently circles on her back.

“Can I try something, baby? See if it helps you feel better?” Steve voices.

“Uh huh,” Y/N nods softly, looking over at him.

Her eyes are swollen and pink from crying, and slightly glazed over. Steve pulls his shirt off and her eyes go wide.

“No no no no, not that, no that’s the worst thing we could do right now, no-” Y/N cries.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay, baby, I’m not gonna do anything! It’s okay, darling, take a deep breath,” Steve soothes, gently slipping her hands under her arms and shifting her up.

Y/N starts to protest, but Steve quickly pushes the pillows from under her and takes their places. He eases her down over her so her heating pad is sandwiched between them and her knees are on either side of him. She lets out a content sound and sinks into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Steve strokes Y/N’s hair with one hand, using the other to rub up and down her back.

“Is that a little better, princess?”

Y/N nods into his shoulder, clinging to them.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too, baby,”

Taglist:

@liidiaaag

@flourishandblotts-inc

@aagn360

@smromanoff

@butyoudontlookdisabled

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robo-writing · 3 months ago

Note

hello! Can I request a Logan x afab!reader who has chronic pain, and is having a flare up? If not that’s okay, have a nice day!

He hates seeing you like this—in pain, suffering, forced to stand by your side and pamper you as best he can because to you, this is normal.

He wishes it wasn’t, but it is.

He’s trained himself to see the signs; shaky breaths, wobbly legs, that half-smile you give when you’re clearly in pain but you wanna convince him you’re fine—you’re not fine doll, lemme take care of you.

You always try to refuse his help, and you always fail because Logan doesn’t need your permission—if it’s in your benefit he’ll do it, no questions asked. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, so like hell he’s gonna stand by and do nothing.

“What do you need?” He whispers, taking you into his arms—sturdy, strong, arms that hold you tight and rub circles against your back as you whimper into them.

“Just need a break,” you breathe. “Just for a little while.”

You hate yourself for it sometimes, how easily you fall into his embrace, the soft coos that lure you in like a siren’s song—c’mere hon, I’ve gotcha—the way your body betrays you when it accepts his help so easily—

But then again, it’s not fair to blame yourself; when given the choice of pain or relief, you’ll always choose Logan.

#robo speaks #ask #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #I hope I did this ask justice anon #I’ve never written for a chronically ill reader before #if there’s anything that I should improve on feel free to ask ❤️

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stardust-and-snickerdoodles · 7 months ago

Text

tired and i'm awake

fandom: Chicago Med

pairing: Connor Rhodes x Reader

summary: You've kept your chronic pain a secret from Connor since you started dating. But fate has other plans for you, and an untimely accident leads to him finding out about your condition.

tags/warnings: angst, injury, burns, hurt/comfort, chronic pain/illness

word count: 3024

a/n: this one's for all my EDS/POTS combo girlies

When you were young, the doctors said it was “growing pains.” That eventually it would go away, that it was only temporary, take an Advil.

Then you got older, and it was your period. Even though the pain was constant and all over, somehow every doctor put it down to your cycle. Sure, it was worse when you were menstruating, but it didn’t disappear when you weren’t.

Sometimes, you were “making it up” or “drug seeking.” ER visits, annual physicals, all proved fruitless. Eventually, it was all just too much to handle. The constant doctors’ visits, the unending questions with no answers. You’re tired.

Even when you lay on the bathroom floor, curled around yourself and sobbing, you refuse to go to the doctor. You know it won’t amount to anything, just another bill and insurance paperwork. You manage on your own with 3 extra strength Tylenol or a heating pad or just laying in bed until it mostly subsides. Then you can get up and pretend to be okay again.

So, it was a bit of a surprise to everyone who knows of your issues when you started dating a surgeon. Hell, you even surprised yourself. But Connor is… different. He’s kind and understanding and patient. Still, your previous negative experiences prevent you from telling him about the chronic pain you experience, or any of the other problems that come along with it.

You’ve been dating now for about six months and you couldn’t be happier. Connor’s hours are busy and long, but you look forward to the end of every day when you can see him. Even if it means putting on a brave face when your joints ache. You moved in together about a month ago, and it’s a little harder to hide the pain now, but you manage. You don’t want to be just another patient for him to deal with.

Today, you have a feeling it’s going to be a little more difficult to put on your façade. Your knees and hips have been acting up lately. Everything feels… a bit looser than usual, like the tissues between your joints are made of thin string, ready to break at any movement. Each movement feels as though you’re going to rip yourself apart, limb from limb. It’s all you can do not to cry out when you finally pry yourself out of bed in the morning. Connor is already gone, having left sometime in the middle of the night, off to work his shift at the ED. You hope beyond hope that the pain will have subsided by the time he gets home tonight.

You hope that maybe a warm bath with some Epsom salts will help, and take short, shuffling steps to the bathroom, walking near the wall just in case. Each footfall sends shooting pain up your legs. You grit your teeth and manage to make it to the toilet, sitting down and reaching to turn the tap on the bath. Breathing in and out slowly, you remind yourself that you have this under control. You will survive this, it’s just pain. It’s just pain.

You stare as the tub fills with water, trying your best to compartmentalize and clear the pain away. Mind over matter, that’s what your mother always says. Easy for her, when she’s not the one in pain.

Feeling as though you might break with any sudden moves, you lower yourself into the warm bath, closing your eyes as the water surrounds you. It’s calming and smells like eucalyptus.

You linger until the water is cooled and your joints begin to protest from staying in one position too long. You wrap a fluffy robe around yourself, a gift from Connor after he saw the old ratty one you’d been using for years. It’s luxurious and soft, and probably cost him the equivalent of an entire week’s salary for you. Perks of dating a surgeon, you suppose.

Just standing has you feeling lightheaded, and you can feel your heart beating in your ears. For a moment the room darkens as spots fill your vision, but you just breathe in deeply until it subsides. Then you continue to take small steps back out to the bedroom, before placing yourself gingerly on the comforter.

Once you’re still and laying down, the pain begins to creep back in with force. It just reminds you that as much as you want to, you can’t ignore it. You can compartmentalize and convince yourself all you want, but you’re stuck with this.

Now, along with your hips and knees, your back and neck have begun to ache from sitting upright in the tub. You sigh and curl onto your side, your wet hair clinging to your neck. Five minutes, you tell yourself. Then I’ll get up and get dressed and dry my hair and… God, it’s all so much. How are you ever supposed to get all of that done when you feel like this? Still, you reprimand yourself and promise only five minutes of rest. Just until the aching diminishes somewhat.

You wake to the sound of the door unlocking. Night has fallen outside the window, leaving the apartment bathed in darkness.

So much for five minutes.

Connor walks in, looking tired and worn out, but still wearing a smile when he spots you curled up on the bed. You smile back, still groggy from your extended nap.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, setting his bag down before taking a seat next to you. “How was your day?”

“Good,” you lie easily. “How was work?”

Connor smooths some errant hairs away from your forehead before placing a soft kiss there. “Busy. But good. Did you shower? Your hair’s still wet.”

A fierce blush makes its way up your cheeks as you avoid his eyes. “Took a bath. I guess I just passed out after. Baths always take it out of me,” you half-joke.

Connor’s brow furrows and you can immediately sense the switch into “doctor mode.” He places the back of his hand on your forehead again. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, pulling his hand down to your lips to plant a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “Do you want dinner? I can make something.” The ache in your joints begins to make itself known again, but you want to do something nice for Connor. You know how tired he is after his shifts.

“Sure,” Connor replies, but he’s still looking at you with concern.

You slowly sit up, trying to school your expression as something pinches in your hip. “Spaghetti? I think we have some noodles leftover from the other night; I can just make a quick sauce.”

Connor nods and stands with you. “I’m gonna go shower,” he states while pulling you into a loose hug. “Do you need anything before I go?”

You shake your head and breathe him in. He smells like the hospital, but underneath that is the gentle scent of his cologne that always relaxes you. “No, you go. I can handle it.”

Connor releases you and makes his way to the bathroom while you head to the kitchen. You feel incrementally better than this morning, the pain in your back and neck thankfully lessened. Your hips are the worst now, and the right one especially feels tenuous. Each step is shaky, but you push through it.

You’re grateful for the distraction of cooking as you work on dinner, but it’s not enough to totally take away the pain. As you stand over the stove you can still feel the pulsing in your knees, the unsteadiness in your hips, and the ache in your back is returning. You barely suppress a groan as your right hip nearly gives out.

Seconds later, the door to the bathroom opens, and Connor exits with just a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. For a moment you’re tempted to stop cooking altogether and take him right back to bed. But then your right hip protests yet again, and the thought quickly flees. You shoot Connor a smile as he comes up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder and you tense imperceptibly. Illogical as it may seem, you’re worried maybe he’ll… feel your pain or something, if he gets too close.

“Smells good,” Connor murmurs, kissing the side of your neck.

“Grab some plates,” you reply, stirring the spaghetti sauce one more time before turning off the heat.

Connor’s arms leave you and you let out a breath. You grab some potholders from a nearby cabinet and pull the sauce off the stove.

As you make your way over to the table, your hip begins to feel even more unsteady than before. Each step is agony as you grip the saucepot, praying that your leg doesn’t give out now. Connor’s back is to you when suddenly you step wrong. Instantly, you feel a popping sensation in your hip and you stumble.

The pot goes flying, splattering sauce all over you and the kitchen. You crumble to the floor, a short cry leaving your lips. The sauce burns your thighs, uncovered thanks to the robe you still wear, but all you can feel is the burning pain in your hip. It feels… wrong.

It’s not exactly a new experience. A few years ago – with no help from your doctors – you finally realized that this type of pain means something is dislocated. In this case, your hip. It’s one of the worst to dislocate, since you have trouble getting it back in place on your own.

Connor immediately rushes toward you, calling your name in panic. “Are you okay? Oh god, what happened?”

You grit your teeth to stop from crying out again as you right yourself with your leg out in front of you. Your hand grips your right thigh, the pain from your dislocated hip shooting down your leg and making your toes numb.

Connor’s already pulling out his phone to call 911, obviously only seeing the burns on your legs from the hot sauce.

You reach out to grab his wrist to stop him from dialing. “I’m fine,” you insist, tears brimming in your eyes.

Connor levels you with a glare that would make anyone give in. “You just spilled scalding sauce all over yourself. You’re at least getting checked out at the ED.”

“Okay, okay, but… Can’t you just drive me?”

He must hear the pleading tone in your voice because he sets his phone down with a sigh. “Fine,” he surrenders. “Let’s get you cleaned up first so I can take a look.”

You nod as he stands to retrieve towels. Once his back is turned, you take mental stock of your hip. It doesn’t feel too badly dislocated, but it certainly needs to be put back sooner rather than later. Before you get a chance to do it yourself, Connor returns with wet towels. He immediately gets to work gingerly cleaning your skin. You can tell that you’ve at least got first-degree burns, maybe even second in some places. But you can’t get past the pain in your hip. If you could just get a moment alone so you could reset it…

You notice that Connor’s movements have stopped and you look to see what he’s doing. His brows are furrowed as he looks at your right leg, now clean of the sauce. “Doesn’t look too bad, but I still want to go to Med just to be sure. And…” Suddenly his eyes widen and his hands rest delicately on either side of your leg. You can’t help but flinch at the touch. “It looks like your hip is dislocated… God, that must hurt. Did you hit it on the ground when you fell?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “It’s nothing,” you insist.

“Y/N,” Connor’s voice is firm. “We need to get this reduced. I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, pulling out his phone once more.

“No!” you cry. “I can take care of it!” Before he can stop you, you bend your knee outward, making a half-butterfly shape with your legs, then push down on it with your hands. Your hip pops back into place with an audible click and the relief is instant.

Connor is silent for a long moment as he stares at you, mouth agape.

You speak before he can, blabbering without much sense. “It’s fine, it happens a lot. I’m okay, I promise.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes are wide with concern and empathy. “What do you mean?” he whispers.

You shrug and take the wet towel from his hand, continuing to wipe off the sauce from your other thigh. This one’s not as bad as your right, but it’s still painful. “Nothing, Connor. I just… It happens sometimes, okay? Dislocating things, it’s not new to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Connor’s voice is so full of hurt that you immediately regret keeping this from him.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, meeting his eyes. The tears in your own begin to fall down your cheeks. “I just… I’ve always dealt with it on my own. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it too. And I didn’t know if you’d believe me, no one ever believes me, and I didn’t want to lose you because of my broken body…” You’re rambling now, the adrenaline and pain making your words come out jumbled.

Connor scoots over to sit next to you, uncaring of the sauce that’s getting on his jeans. His arm wraps around you gently, and already you can feel that he’s treating you differently. Touching you like you’re… fragile. “Y/N… I would never not believe you about something like this. Have you gone to the doctor about it?”

A sob leaves your lips and you smile sarcastically. “Of course, I have, Connor. I’ve been to so many doctors and none of them have any answers. It’s always growing pains, or my period, or I’m faking it. Eventually I just gave up because, like I said, I can deal with it on my own.”

Connor is silent for a long while. Finally, he lifts your chin with his finger so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to deal with it on your own now. We’re together, and that means we tell each other these things. I won’t leave you because of something you can’t control, sweetheart. And I want you to find answers. We can find them together. Okay?”

You nod and Connor goes to dial 911 again. As he’s on the phone with the operator, you let the tears fall. The pain of the burns is finally hitting you, only adding to the existing pain you already feel. Connor’s words mean everything to you, but right now that’s all they are – words. How can you know he’ll stay with you after he finds out what this really is like? The constant pain, the days spent in bed, the agony of it all? How could anyone – how could Connor – ever want someone like you?

You don’t realize that Connor is done on the phone until his hand lands on your shoulder. “Babe?” his voice is a little louder than necessary, which tells you that he’s been trying to get your attention for a while.

“Sorry,” you mutter, using the back of your hand to wipe away errant tears.

Connor takes a deep breath, and you worry about what he’s going to say. “You can talk to me, you know?”

You nod, avoiding his eyes. “I know. But this… I don’t want to be just another person you have to take care of.” The sound of sirens grows loud outside the apartment building.

“Honey. Look at me,” Connor urges, lifting your chin again. “You are not just another patient to me. You never will be. Okay?”

“You don’t know,” you whisper, your voice suddenly hoarse. “Once you know what it’s like, how much help I’ll need… I don’t know what my life will be like in 10 years, hell, even in a year. I’m in pain all the time, and I don’t know if it will get worse, and I don’t want you to be burdened with that.”

Before Connor can answer, the intercom buzzes as the paramedics request entrance. Connor stands to let them in, and you bring your sore legs up so you can bury your head in your knees. The embarrassment of it all is starting to hit you as you realize that soon you’ll be at Med, surrounded by Connor’s colleagues. No doubt he’ll want to run a myriad of tests to figure out your underlying condition, and you’re not sure you have the energy for that right now.

You hear the door opening, followed by a couple pairs of footsteps and Connor’s voice getting closer. “Female, 27, post-fall and contact with hot liquid. Superficial partial thickness burns on the thighs. Right hip dislocated but already reduced.” You hold in a snort at his medical jargon describing your silly accident.

The paramedics aren’t anyone you know, but they’re nice enough as they examine the burns and apply saline-soaked gauze. You’re embarrassed by your lack of proper clothing, but they don’t seem to mind. You’re sure they’ve seen worse than a nearly-naked woman anyway.

They ask various questions while Connor watches nearby, eyes slightly narrowed as if to make sure they don’t hurt you further. Once you’re finally loaded up onto a stretcher, he returns to your side and holds your hand in a crushing grip.

“This is really unnecessary,” you mutter at him, squeezing his hand.

Connor looks down at you with a soft smile. “Doctor knows best, sweetheart.” He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay if you don’t want. As long as you get that hip x-rayed and those burns checked, I’ll be satisfied. We can figure out the rest later.”

You smile back, tears pricking your eyes again. “Thank you, Connor. For being here.”

He snorts out a laugh. “You really have to raise your standards, baby.”

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