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she-karev · 2 months ago

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Breakdown (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister PTSD Imagine)

Previous Chapter Here

Age Rating: 18+

Chapters: Two of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 10

TRIGGER WARNING: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Panic Attack, Flashback, Depression

Mental Health Resources: https://www.ptsd.va.gov/, https://adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/posttraumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/resources, https://www.nami.org/, https://www.aacap.org/, https://www.dbsalliance.org/, https://afsp.org/

AN: I do NOT enjoy hurting my characters, let me make that clear and I certainly don’t enjoy hurting my head canon ships but I write not just for entertainment but to also send a message. Realistically someone with Amber’s traumatic childhood, relationship problems, and anxiety can crumble one day when it becomes too much to bear. I wanted to show that even the strongest person can ask for help when they feel it’s too much to overcome alone. Like and reblog below and let me know what you think.

Summary: Amber Karev reaches a breaking point and confides in Andrew her dark thoughts. When he fails to get her to seek help he encourages her to talk to someone about her problems. She confides in her friend Jackson Avery her struggles who helps her see that there is no shame in admitting you need help. That night she and Andrew have a heartbreaking goodbye when she leaves to stay at her brother, Alex’s, while she takes time off work to go to therapy.

Words: 5852

May 18th, 2020

Amber quickly walks inside the pit where she sees Paul Wilkins lying in bed sleeping. She sees him alone with no nurse or resident on sight and decides to see what’s going on. She keeps a respectable distance from the large man before speaking to him.

“Mr. Wilkins?” The man wakes up and sits up looking at the young resident, “Hi I don’t know if you remember me I-”

��Your one of my doctors ain’t you?” Paul asks causing Amber to nod.

“Yes I’m Dr. Karev. Did a nurse follow up with you? Was there a resident to tell you what your results showed what caused the pain?”

“Nope, I’ve been here by myself about half an hour, nobody told me anything.”

Amber nods apologetically, “I’m sorry about that our staff is scrambled all over trying to keep things steady but that is no excuse.”

“Nah it’s fine doc.” Paul dismisses nonchalantly, “It ain’t like you don’t got an excuse. And I’m just a youngish man who gets takeout deliveries cause there isn’t anything else to pass the time. Did you get my results back?”

“We did.” Amber goes over the labs on her tablet, “Your labs show that your anemic, that means your iron deficient and it’s what caused your nausea. The good news is that this is very treatable with oral iron supplements, the bad news is your gonna have to say goodbye to greasy takeout food and opt for a homemade salad instead.”

Paul chuckles, “My wife is gonna be happy to hear that. Her job is on pause, and she took up making a rooftop vegetable garden. Answer me this, have you ever tried radish from a dirty pot on a rooftop?”

Amber grins amused, “No I have not.”

“We’ll you can thank the lord for that blessing.” Amber chuckles before writing down on her tablet.

“So, the nausea is under control, and you should make a full recovery and be discharged soon. We’ll give you a rapid test and if your positive your gonna have to quarantine in a private room for the next two weeks and call us if your symptoms worsen. I’m gonna send your pharmacy a prescription for oral Phenergan for the nausea and oral iron supplements to get your iron levels under control. Is there anyone you can call to pick you up and drive you home?”

“Yeah, my wife she’s home with our girls but uh…” Amber raises an eyebrow at that pause, “I don’t know how to zoom her. My girls help me and I don’t know how.”

Amber grins at that before opening the facetime app on her tablet and handing it to Paul, “You just put down your wife’s number in and if she answers she should pop up.”

Paul does as told and waits while the tablet rings before his wife answers and her face pops up at the other end, “Hi baby.”

“Paul!” His wife exclaims worried, “Oh my god I was so worried about you, are you okay?”

“I’m fine I just need to eat less burgers that’s all. My doctor here can explain, say hi to doc.” Paul turns the tablet to face Amber who waves at his wife.

“Hi Mrs. Wilkins, I’m Dr. Karev, I’m your husbands�� doctor. So, your husband is anemic, that’s what caused the nausea and pain. Now this is very treatable with oral iron supplements and a more rigid diet moving forward, do you think you can help make sure he follows?”

“Oh, I will even if I have to shove lettuce down his throat.”

Paul chuckles, “Yep that’s Janice for you, never takes no for an answer.”

“Daddy!” Amber sees two little girls grabbing the phone and facing the resident who blanches at the sight of her patient’s kids. Kid’s that she almost left without a father if Jackson hadn’t corrected her error to the nurse.

Paul doesn’t notice her skin paling under her PPE and instead faces the tablet with renewed energy, “Hey babies! Don’t worry, daddy’s coming home soon thanks to this nice doctor lady. Say thank you to the doctor.”

Paul turns the tablet with Amber facing the two adorable little girls who smile widely at her making her heart sting, “Thank you doctor!”

Amber swallows the lump in her throat before smiling at the children behind her mask, “Your very welcome.” Paul turns the tablet to face him and Amber clears her throat before speking calmly, “Um I just sent your prescription in, it should be ready tonight. A nurse will discharge you, I have to be somewhere, if you have any questions have a nurse page me.”

Paul nods to Amber’s relief as she walks away from the pit. She doesn’t know where she is going but she can’t be in the pit face to face with a patient she almost harmed. The N95 mask she is wearing feels like a stove in her face, and she registers her breathing is becoming increasingly erratic.

Amber feels relief when she sees an empty family room that she quickly enters and shuts the door behind her. The comfortable couch and armchair are barely registered in her brain that feels like it’s spinning inside her skull. The panicking resident rips her face shield off her face along with her N95. But the air in her hot face is not enough for her to breathe in through her nose or her mouth that is hyperventilating. She leans forward against a wall, pressing her forehead against her clasping fists trying to control her breathing.

“Calm down, Karev, calm down.” Amber recites to herself but her voice does little to make herself relax. Her chest feels like it’s being squeezed inside and once again her feet feel like their planted on the ground.

The overlapping sounds from nurses and doctors outside the room are becoming muffled like they’re slowly moving a thousand miles away. Instead of the usual hospital chatter and equipment being moved all her hears is a ringing in her ear that she registers as her breathing gets shorter isn’t a ringing at all, it’s a flatline tone.

April 1st 2020

Amber looks down at her patient Ian Talbert who is lying in bed waiting for the release of death that comes to men his age who contract covid. The young resident has never felt so helpless, so insignificant, less like a doctor and more as a witness of death.

The 64-year-old actuary just offered the depressed resident a parting gift, his deceased daughters army dog tags. At first, she refused out of respect but reluctantly took them at Ian’s insistence that there was no one else to take them from him. Hearing Ian say there was nobody in his life to keep him company in his last moments makes the youngest Karev take action even if it kills her emotionally. She holds his hand with the dog tags and sits down in the chair next to him.

“I’m here. I am not going anywhere.” Amber promises holding his hand as he tears up from her kindness.

“I don’t blame you.” Ian states to a guilty Amber who closes her tearful eyes and looks down in shame, “I’m gonna see my daughter. Do you believe that?”

Amber sniffles and looks back up at her friend with tears in her eyes still holding his weakening hand.

“I didn’t give it much thought until this happened.” Amber admits, “But yeah, I want to believe there’s something good for you after all this pain. I really want to believe it.”

Ian’s breathing gets shallower, and he lays in bed looking up at the ceiling waiting for the release of death. Amber is still by his side holding his hand making sure he is not alone, it’s the only thing she can do at a time like this.

“Everything I have…is yours.” Ian proclaims.

A few moments pass before Ian stops breathing and lays still in bed with his eyes wide open. Amber looks and sees the monitors flatline without the sound. She looks back at Ian and let’s go of his limping hand to close his eyes. Her lip quivers as her eyes fill with tears before she sobs by the bed, saddened by what the world has come to and how many good people it’s lost in the process.

Present

“Amber!” The familiar sound of Andrew causes her to gasp and open her eyes. No longer is she leaning against her fists, instead she is sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. She registers that her knees are drawn up to her chest and her hair is stinging in pain.

Amber realizes she was pulling her own hair and possibly rocking back and forth like a child while lost in the flashback. She also looks at her boyfriend in front of her who looks frightened out of his mind no doubt she looked like she was losing it, and the thought fills her with shame.

Amber swallows the lump in her throat before asking, “What happened?”

“You went white, you were pulling your hair, and you were hyperventilating.” His voice is strained as if seeing her in that state broke his heart, “And when I touched you, you screamed.”

“I…what?” Amber feels her throat sore and realizes he is right as she speaks raspy, “Damn it…who heard?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Andrew dismisses needing to focus on the main issue, “Amber I have tried to be patient and back off like you wanted because every time I even ask you if you’re okay you lash out, but I can’t stand idly by not anymore. You need to see a therapist, right now as soon as possible.”

Amber shakes her head on autopilot, “No I’m f-

“You’re not fine.” Andrew insists sternly, “You had a full-on flashback, you weren’t here you were somewhere else, and I know it wasn’t the first time today. The nurses said they saw you stare off into space at the pit. That is not a symptom of a person who is fine you and I both know that.”

“Andrew, I don’t want to talk about this!” Amber exclaims in frustration before standing up and keeping a distance between them, “What part of that don’t you understand? I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to talk to some stranger about my fucked-up life, I don’t want to be another crazy person in my family like my mom!”

Andrew closes his eyes at that realizing this goes deeper than burnout as Amber keeps denying what is wrong, “I am trying to move on and rise on my own time in my own way. And yeah, maybe I missed some sleep, and my mind takes me to the worst moments of my life but guess what, not all of us can get stabbed and walk away five minutes later like nothing happened. We’re all not that lucky!”

Andrew widens his eyes at that low blow his girlfriend achieved. He would feel angry five months ago except back then he didn’t lash out at the woman he loves when he was having a mental breakdown. It was this moment he realized how hopeless Amber felt then and that knowledge makes his guilt grow even more and makes him more determined to persist like she did and help her like she tried to help him.

“…I’m not lucky Amber.” Andrew starts calmly, “A lucky person wouldn’t get stabbed, a lucky person wouldn’t drive the love of his life away, a lucky person wouldn't inherit his estranged father’s mental illness. I am far from the luckiest guy alive, and I was traumatized after what happened. I spent the first two weeks after my surgery waking up from nightmares and looked over my shoulder afraid someone was gonna come and finish the job. I was a freaking mess and the reason you don’t know this was because I didn’t want to burden you so soon after you miraculously decided to give us another chance.”

Amber stands there frozen with a remorseful face as Andrew continues with a strained voice, “I didn’t want to trigger you again and lose you again because I love you. And the reason I was so perfect in your book was because I had myself invested in my mental health by then. I take my meds; I go to therapy, and it helps me process what happened to me and move forward. I am trying to help you do the same because…because I can’t watch you ignore what is wrong like I did with my father I can’t. Just talk to me please. Just tell me what’s going on. I’m here for you okay? I want to help.”

Amber sniffles at this confession. A part of her wants to tell him…but a nagging feeling in her brain is reminding her of every fight they had when he was manic. It is playing the time he told her she would end up like her abusive father. It is playing the time he compared her to her neglectful mother. It played the weeks he ghosted her after his public breakdown. All of these horrible memories make her feel like she’s swimming in a blackhole before she coldly responds.

“You can’t help Andrew.” Amber replies numbly, “Nobody can help because you can’t fix me any better than when I tried to fix you. You hurt me and you lashed out at me and nothing I did got through to you so why do you think now would be any different?”

“Amber I’m trying to help.” Andrew pleads but it falls on deaf ears.

“You want to help me?” Andrew sees the hurt in her eyes as her voice is low and shaky, “Make the pandemic go away, make it so my mom actually got better when I needed her, make it so my brother didn’t inherit this illness. Make it so everyone I love in my life didn’t go crazy and hurt me in every way possible. Can you do that?!”

Andrew frowns at this inquiry that makes him silent with melancholy, “Yeah that’s what I thought. You can’t make this better because nothing ever gets better. Not the world, not the hospital, not our patients, not me. Everything is falling apart, and everyone is dying, and nobody knows how to fix it.”

Andrew stands there silent for a moment as he processes her depressing statement that is plaguing everyone. But he sees this isn’t just burnout or even depression, this is Amber falling apart after so many years of bottling up her pain. He knows he alone can’t help her…but he knows she needs someone to turn to even if it’s not him and wants to encourage her to do so.

He nods with a hard line on his face, “Your right I can’t fix the world and everything that is wrong with your life…but that doesn’t mean you have to let this helplessness and hopelessness take hold of you and never let go. I almost let it and if it wasn’t for Carina, Bailey and Webber I would be in the same place you are right now. Unwilling to help myself because the truth is too scary to face. I was lucky to have people that didn’t give up on me. And you have that too even if this thing your feeling can’t let you see it.”

Amber looks at Andrew with tear glistened eyes, “If you don’t want to talk to me that’s fine, I know after everything I put you through, I am the last person you feel safe to be vulnerable with. But please talk to someone else, someone you feel safe with, like Alex or Jackson who were there for you when I wasn’t. Talk to them before it eats you alive.”

Amber stands there for a moment looking broken beyond repair at this insistence. Even when she tries to push him away he is still trying to help her at her lowest. This gesture would melt her heart…except now her heart feels like it’s not working. It feels like everything inside of her is dying, it feels like all of the pain and misery has made her feel everything and nothing. Unable to bear him seeing this, Amber quickly leaves the room.

She walks toward the pit looking to work to escape this feeling, to escape all that is wrong. Except something stops her dead in her tracks just as she enters the mostly empty ER. Paul Wilkins is still in bed, except this time his wife is by his side. They are both talking and keeping their distance but the love between them is clear to the resident.

It’s clear to her that this scene in front of her wouldn’t be happening. It’s clear to her that Paul could be dead because his doctor prescribed him medication, she forgot he was allergic to because she was tired and stressed.

It’s clear that if her friend hadn’t been checking on her and correcting her little mistakes that almost culminated in a massive one, she would be fired or worse. It’s clear to her that Andrew was right about her needing to talk to someone before she lets this despair, she’s experiencing kill one of her patients. It’s clear she needs to talk to someone before it’s too late.

Later

Jackson looks out the window of the attendings lounge lost in thought as the pitter patter of rain falls from the dark sky. It seems like fitting weather for the day he’s had. First, he tried to talk to Amber about her obvious mental decline and then he had to work with a mother and daughter suffering from covid who both had to be put on a vent when ventilators were in shortage now.

Luckily his and Maggie’s quick thinking were able to convert one vent into a double tubing that can be used for both of them at the same time. It is a solution that can help trauma patients and covid patients use desperately needed vents without fear of a shortage.

However, his sorrow is still present as he has one problem remaining with his best friend who left to work despite what transpired with Paul Wilkins. It’s a problem that has him seriously contemplating on reporting her to Bailey and forcing her to get help or get fired. This decision is stalled by the door being burst open and slammed shut. Jackson turns to find Amber entering the room looking more disheveled than when she left him.

Amber is gripping the table chair by the top looking down at her feet with a struggle on her face that worries Jackson. It’s a look he’s never seen on her, it’s a look of distress that has never been shown in this confident and collected resident, until today. Jackson moves to face Amber across the table sitting down in the chair six feet away from her. He keeps a neutral face that he hopes allows her to feel safe enough to finally admit she needs help.

Amber sniffles and looks up to face Jackson with tear glistened eyes before speaking in a small voice, “Ask me again.”

Jackson furrows his eyebrows confused that Amber catches causing her to elaborate, “Ask me what I saw…when I was blacking out before I prescribed Mr. Wilkins the Zofran. Ask me what caused me to forget vital patient information.”

“…What did you see before you prescribed Mr. Wilkins the Zofran?”

Amber swallows and takes a moment before responding in a raspy voice, “A nurse was playing a song, Complicated by Avril Lavigne. It triggered me I think and my mind took me somewhere else, somewhere that felt like I was living a memory all over again. I was nine years old; I was listening to that song and then…and then my mom came bursting in off her meds again. She thought there was an intruder, and she was threatening to kill them. I instantly knew she was gonna attack me because it was just me there but the damn schizophrenia would make her see a monster instead of her own daughter. Her illness would kill me, and she wouldn’t even know it until after.”

Jackson looks at her in sympathy while she continues with tears streaming down her eyes sniffling, “I grabbed the phone and hid in the closet like Alex and Aaron told me to do when mom has an episode. I hid in the closet and called Aaron, he heard mom screaming so he said he would be there as fast as he could and to keep quiet and keep hiding so I did…I hid in that closet for half an hour, listening to my mom’s screams and rants that got worse when she started throwing stuff around. I didn’t move, I didn’t make a peep because I was afraid if I so much as breathed out loud Helen would know, and I would be at her mercy without my brothers there to protect me. So I stayed still, I stayed quiet and ever since that day when I hear that song…I am reminded of that awful moment in that closet. But today was the first time I ever had a flashback like that, and do you want to know what the worst part of it is?” Jackson shakes his head listening attentively as his friend shares her struggles with him, “These past few months I felt like that scared little girl in the closet again.”

Amber gasps a breath before grabbing a napkin from the kitchenette to wipe her eyes before explaining to Jackson facing the sink instead of him, “Growing up in that house, in my family…I felt helpless and weak. I put on this tough front like I can handle anything, but it was just that, a front. I didn’t want anyone to see that I was scared, scared of my mom and her crazy and then again with Aaron. You spend a part of your childhood in and out of foster care you learn to close off a part of yourself to survive. I have done that all of my life; I fought tooth and nail to survive…but I always felt like nothing I did mattered. And that feeling…it’s gotten worse since the day we learned we were in a pandemic.”

Jackson stands up with a solemn expression standing six feet next to Amber so she can know he’s still there. He always knew Amber was tough but seeing her breakdown and admit underneath it all is a scared girl has him feeling bad for her as she needed help for so long, but nobody has given it to her or even saw that she needed it.

Amber wipes her tears with the napkin, “Do you know why I became a doctor? I wanted to use the part of my brain that was healthy, the part of that was strong and decisive, the part that my mother’s illness wouldn’t touch. I wanted to feel like I was in control, like I mattered but now…” Amber shudders unable to finish.

Jackson can tell where she was going and finishes for her, “Now it feels like the career you choose to escape your hell from is just another one taking you back to your childhood.”

Amber whimpers as she nods confirming his theory causing her to blow her nose on the napkin before continuing, “I thought it was something I could get used to, something I could fight against until it ended. It’s why I’m working so hard till I’m bone tired, because it’s the only thing I know how to do in a crisis…but then I made a mistake that almost killed someone. I almost became the kind of doctor Andrew’s dad was the night he killed four patients…I almost became the kind of doctor that killed my father. The only difference is that unlike my father that man would have been missed by his family and I would have been the reason that wife lost her loving husband and why those kids lost their great dad. He could have died and not because of a virus I couldn’t control but because of something I could. He could have died because I was too weak to do the job I was entrusted with.”

“Amber look at me, look at me.” Amber sniffles and turns to face him and she grips the sink, “You are not weak, you are the least weak person I know. Mr. Wilkins could have died because of the Zofran you prescribed yes but he didn’t. He didn’t because you have people who could see you are understandably crumbling at all this death and illness surrounding us. And you realized your mistake, you remembered what the paramedics told you and you ran like hell to stop it. Shane Ross refused to sleep and talk to anyone about his problems. He didn’t help himself and it caused him to hallucinate and take your father in for a botched surgery that caused organ failure. Webber had to physically tell him what was happening right in front of him to get him to step down. He went down a rabbit hole and pushed everyone away and alienated anyone who tried to reach out. He refused to acknowledge what was wrong and stop himself from burning out and hurting patients in the process, that is the difference between the two of you. You stopped and you took a breath and came here to talk to someone who could help. I’ve learned from my nature walks that sometimes the best thing to do is to just stand still and let your feelings and your pain be known to you so you can know what is causing it to begin with.”

Amber presses her lips together as his words hit her and cause more tears to form in her eyes, “You stopped and stood still before you could go down the same path as Ross and Vincenzo DeLuca and have everything you worked hard to gain be taken away from you because you didn’t admit you weren’t okay. You did the hardest thing a person can do and that is not weakness. You are working in a hospital during a pandemic, and it can cause anyone to feel dejected and it’s especially hard for a person like you who knows the feeling of helplessness too well. What you are doing right now, admitting the problem in front of you after a lifetime of keeping your guard up, is not weakness, it is an act of incredible strength. And I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you than at this very moment.”

Amber shakes her head at that and replies numb, “I don’t feel strong.”

Jackson nods understanding that and decides to get to the next step Amber needs to take, “Don’t worry, you only have to be strong enough to do one more thing.”

Amber sniffles knowing the words that need to come out, it takes all her strength the muster the three words she has never said in her life, “…I need help.”

Amber exhales after saying these words feeling like a weight is being listed off her shoulders. She begins to sob at this admission of needing professional help knowing this will not be an easy journey but it’s one she must take in order to feel like her best self once again.

That Night

Andrew opens the door to his apartment feeling the need to shower and sleep as soon as he comes in. He exhales in exhaustion from work and his relationship. He hasn’t seen Amber since she walked out after refusing to talk to him. DeLuca doesn’t know where Amber is and hopes she took his advice and talked to someone about her struggles.

He enters the living room where he pauses at a shocking sight. He sees Amber sitting on the couch looking up at him sadly with two of her suitcases by her side packed. Andrew would normally think this is Amber leaving Andrew out of disdain for his insistence that she seek therapy. But seeing the sorrowful look on her face tells him a different story, it tells him this isn’t being done out of anger but out of seeking help for herself like he wanted.

Andrew moves to sit on the couch next to Amber and waits until she’s comfortable enough to speak to him, “…I’m not okay. I thought I was but I’m not okay. I know how to push through the pain and try to ignore it but…it’s too much death to ignore and it’s breaking me down. It feels like everything around me is just a constant reminder that I’m not good enough and I just feel helpless all over again. I felt helpless and weak growing up and I worked so hard to be strong and successful but now…now it’s like it was all for nothing, like I am nothing and it’s not going away.”

Andrew sighs at this holding her hand to let her know he is not going anywhere again, “It’s not going away and I…I know it’s gonna take a lot more than just surviving to get through it. I know I need to rest and actually face this thing and treat it like it’s a disease before I let it consume me. This thing…it’s been there since I was a kid and it’s gotten worse since March. It’s gotten worse to the point where I prescribed Zofran to a patient a paramedic told me he was allergic to. I almost let my trauma kill a man, if it wasn’t for Jackson, I would never forgive myself. And if it wasn’t for Jackson, I wouldn’t admit what you two saw before me. I need help. And that’s why I can’t stay here while I do. This apartment…it’s filled with horrible memories of one of the many times I felt like I was unworthy of love and felt like everyone I loved went crazy because I was in the same room as them.”

Amber sniffles and wipes a tear away causing Andrew anguish as he knows he caused her to feel that way along with her mom and brother. It causes him to have tears glisten in his eyes feeling responsible for hurting the woman he loves.

Amber faces him with a red rimmed eyes, “I know you didn’t mean it, I know it was the illness that caused you to act like that. All of this isn’t your fault, you were just a very tiny part of my long torturous life that piled on my psyche until this point.”

“But I was still a part of it.” Andrew says out of shame and regret, “I’m sorry, I wish I was a person to mend your pain instead of causing it. I want to be that person.”

“You were.” Amber admits truthfully, “You still are I just…I love you so much and right now I need some space for a little bit to figure out how to fix myself by myself. I need to do that otherwise I’m gonna rely on you or my family or my friends to feel better and that can’t be an option for me right now with everything going on. I need to figure out how to not feel like I’m dying inside.”

Andrew nods understanding this more than anyone as he has been there before and hopes Amber can heal like he’s trying to, “I’m gonna go to my brothers for a few weeks. It’s a safe place I think will be perfect for me while I take time off to sort myself out”

Andrew nods holding her hand tighter, “I know how hard this is, believe me and I wish I could say it’s gonna be easy but it’s not. It’s gonna be hard in the beginning but eventually you’re gonna finally move past your reluctance and whatever it is that’s making you feel like you are less important than you actually are. Trust me when I say, it’s gonna get better and I’ll be right here to help and right here when you get back. I promise, I’m not gonna stop loving you when you get help. I promise you I am not leaving this time, I’m here for good, I swear.”

Amber feels slightly better at that story looking at Andrew with love, “I know that. I love you too I just…I need space from you and everything else so I can focus on myself and get better. I need to stop fighting and just stand still. I need to do that for myself, I need to help myself.”

Andrew nods understanding her need to get her priorities straight like he did. He sees a little of the smart, strong and resilient woman he fell in love with right now even if she doesn’t. He leans forward and kisses her gently.

She reciprocates this kiss with a tear down her cheek as their lips touch. Amber touches the back of his neck bringing him closer as they stop kissing and instead lean against each other’s foreheads closing their eyes as they take in this last moment between them before Amber goes.

Andrew doesn’t feel sad but rather relief that the woman he loves is taking the time to heal and hopefully come back to him better like he did when his friends and family made him see that it was okay to admit your not okay.

He makes this known to Amber caressing her cheek and looking into her tearful eyes, “Your gonna be okay, I know it. I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Amber whispers back giving him another tender kiss before standing up and grabbing her suitcase with Andrew carrying the other. They walk out of the apartment to Amber’s car where they load the bags into the trunk before getting inside.

Amber is in the passenger seat with Andrew behind the wheel. Before he starts the engine, he looks over to find Amber looking down at her hands twiddling with her fingers. Andrew can tell she is scared to start this chapter just like he was when his sister drove him to the treatment center.

He looks at his girlfriend in sympathy and holds her shaking hands as a gesture of comfort. She appreciates this as she holds his hand with both of hers that shake less. Amber takes a moment to close her eyes and concentrate on her breathing.

She inhales and exhales slowly a few times before opening her eyes and looking at Andrew still holding his hand. Amber sniffles before nodding to let him know she’s okay. He nods back, giving her hands one good squeeze before letting go to start the car. Andrew begins to drive down the road with Amber looking out the window watching the landscape pass as she lets her breath out and closes her eyes to rest before she reaches her destination.

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washngton · 1 year ago

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Very sick of the jaw joint disorder that makes me unable to suck cock without being in terrible pain but also too scared to book a consult because I'd rather kill myself than have a surgery requiring my jaw wired shut.

#.cmmd #Bro and that episode of greys anatomy where the girl has a panic attack and they have to lcip the wires gave me some kind of phobia #Pretty sure she almost throws up in it too maybe that was just my brain conjuring some shit it would not like

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choas232 · 25 days ago

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You get injured. G/N! Reader x Steb

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple club raid goes horribly, horribly wrong. No use of Y/N, neutral terms and they/them is used to refer the reader. I try to be as vague as possible surrounding their anatomy. Set in episode three, season 2, just before and around the Jinx and Vi fight scene. Hurt & some comfort. ANGRY reader as suggested by @f0xtr0x.

CWs: Panic attack. Profanity. Violence. Use of alcohol. Suggestive themes. Vi and Caitlyn are briefly implied to be sleeping together. Nudity. Once again, canon typical Enforcer bigotry. Mild emetophobia (one, two lines. both breif). Anatomically incorrect injuries. Reader is a bitter individual who needs to go to therapy!!!

Word count: 5.1k

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re alone.

The floor is hard against your spine, your attacker’s bloody lip bubbling down onto your face as they snarl above you. Your own lips are stained with it; as rose red as their lipstick, your bruised cheek as electric blue as the eyeshadow smeared across their face.

They tear your goggles from your face first. Harsh, fingers clashing against the soft skin surrounding them. Your eyes scream, reddened and raw against the hulking shape of the grey— the thick and almost palatable fog surrounding you two. A thin film over your eyes settles, milky and blurry and does not leave you as you thrash.

Their movements are clumsy and feral, blinded by the grey as they go for your mask.

There is a beat to the madness, one you clutch after and hold deep into you. It reverberates, even as panic flairs through you— you grab their skull in yours, and your fingers slide through hair slick with blood and sweat before you find a grip and slam them down onto the beer, plastic, glitter and vomit-stained floorboards.

Their skull makes a sickening crunch, one you hear above the awful club hit, the reverbing beat and your screaming mind.

One thing you can kindly say about Zaunites— they are as persistent as cockroaches.

They heave, pushing themselves back up inelegantly, their fingers gripping your shoulders hard enough the bruise. Cradled against them like a lover, you slam them back down. Once. Twice. The third time they choke. You wedge your knee into their stomach, and they wheeze, a rattling sound from low in their stomach as they inhale Grey.

Underneath you, they heave. For a brief second, panting, you pause, watching the blood on your face dribble over theirs, smear their makeup further.

A knife slots into your back.

The moment is slow, at first. You feel it clink against bone, your feel your flesh pushing against it. You breathe once, and the pain flares bright and bold, a hot flash of white and then you are screaming—

Their hands find your mask and tiredly, eyes red, blurred and unseeing, they pull. They pull and you heave, the choking air spilling into your lungs, slathering itself over your airways.

The lights flash above you. Your blood drips through your uniform, staining their oily fluoro mesh shirt.

The woman behind you, knife still lodged into your stomach, kicks you off them harshly. You hit the floor with a crack. She weakly lunges for them, pulling them away, and then she is on you. You both inhale Grey. You both inhale sickness. Her movement, rough against you, presses the knife further into you.

Her hands are on your throat.

You are going to die on this floor.

Did Caitlyn send you here as you continued your hunt of flashes of blue, pink and a memory of a revolution knowing you would die here? You were always going to be a piece of a game larger than the whole of you— but the sting reverberates through you like the beat of the godawful club music.

When you were fifteen, thinking you owned the world, thinking nobody could hurt you because you could hurt them harder, did the world think, you are digging your own grave?

You can’t breathe.

When you were thirteen, did the Enforcer in her neat uniform hand you a pamphlet thinking, this is my rose on your grave, this is my lit candle?

You can’t breathe.

When you were ten years old, brawling on the golden streets of Piltover, did your opponent know you would die like this? Bloody and dirtied, dressed in your finest as you knocked out his teeth, did he slump down, thinking, good fucking riddance?

Good fucking riddance. Good fucking riddance— your anger is blinding. You will not die like this. You scream. You scream but nothing comes out against the weight of her hands, the Grey, the air sucked out of your lungs.

(You are alone, with her. The grief is heavy in you, almost as heavy as the fluttering of the oxygen deprived heart in your chest. Are you supposed to be alone? Was there ever somebody else…)

You try to spit on the woman, but all your saliva does is dribble down your face.

A memory, on the edges of your mind. Brown eyes— a streak of orange hair— frills, scales… you grasp for the revelation, but it never comes, or maybe the darkness swallows it before it can. There is something you are forgetting about. There is something— someone forgetting about you… what were you sad about?

The darkness swallows your rambling, and for a brief moment, you cannot feel her hands around your neck.

You cannot feel anything at all.

A shield.

—gleaming against the fog as it pushes your attacker’s neck down into the floorboards with a crack. Screaming— the second person’s, you think, as they stumble backwards.

Loris. It’s Loris. Loris, staring at her splayed-out body. Maddie— Maddie above you, the spinning spotlights hitting her like an angel as she hauls you up. The hand that feeds and the hand that strikes resemble one another. You flinch as she speaks, her words blurring in your ears. You can barely hear. Your mind is so heavy— the weight of it hauling you down.

Somebody else. You are somewhere else. Blue— blue eyes. Thin lips, twisted downwards, ears pressed to the sides of his head. That upsets you, though you do not remember why. He props you on your side, your lungs heaving, the hole in your back— the gaping wound weeping.

“You left me.” You slur, and then you throw up over his clean, polished Enforcer boots.

࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

You remember now.

A simple club raid. A lousy place situated somewhere close enough to the surface that it had some credit, or at least enough credit that your little target felt the need to stop by. Or maybe Jinx didn’t. Maybe this was just another dead end, and you were barking and snapping at shadows like you had been the past couple of weeks, no closer to capturing her.

That dullard poster— her blown open eyes, blue braids flowing behind her. You saw it when you closed your eyes. How much longer, you wondered, storming in the club, gun clutched in your hands. How much longer until this blows the fuck up in our faces?

It was simple. It was supposed to be simple.

You had a plan— Vi take the front along with Loris, Commander Kiramman trail behind with her rifle, and you Maddie and Steb fill in the gaps left. Stick together. In and out.

Until they left you.

Steb was beside you. Maddie was gone, that was fine, it was fine, you trusted her intellect and pure dog-like devotion to the cause to not impale herself open the nearest bar tap. You watched as your teal-haired friend slammed his baton down, the following crack.

How could such a cruel action be so undeniably gentle in nature? His face was serious, stern. The swing was even, calm, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill. He was no vicious butcher, nothing like the likes of you. How was it that he made every action he took look so… heroic, like the posters they shoved into your hands, like the propaganda you hastily swallowed.

He allows himself to see them as humans and treat them as such, even in his mercilessness. You thought to yourself, very quietly. You could not do that. You could not acknowledge what they are— you cannot. Even thinking of it…

The moment your enemy is more than your enemy is the moment your guilt wraps its arms around you, peels back your skin to reveal your flesh.

Maybe this was your tragic mistake. Seeking to rationalize for a moment and not villainize.

That is why you allowed yourself, foolishly, to be separated, to not shoot first when the Zaunite hurled themself at you. You called out to Steb, but he was already gone, and you shoved them off you and then you were alone, stumbling around in the grey— the gun clutched in your hand suddenly feeling like a children’s toy. Screaming, flashing lights, music— your downfall was that through it all you could selfishly think about was that swing, that gentle movement as he swung down…

You don’t remember how it happened.

Just that it hurt.

࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

You wake with a pounding head and a franticly beating heart.

Take stock of your surroundings. You are in a room. A single, double bed, occupies most of the space, on which you are situated on. There are two bedside tables. There is a counter. The walls are furnished with what looks like cheaply printed artworks, paint slathered over cracks and crumpling bricks, implying this is a cheap motel of sorts. An open window next to the window lets a faint breeze fan your face, cooling the sweat sticking to your limbs and the fever burning low in your chest.

Most worrying of all, your enforcer uniform has been discarded of, leaving you in your slacks and a thin undershirt.

Somebody is writing, a pen scratching against paper in the background. You try to move your head to glance at them, but your temple feels like a brick is being taken to it.

Access damage. Experimentally, you stretch out a finger. Most of your body is simply cramped, some bruised. The movement ends when you crane your neck, and the bruises flare, causing you to shift and in turn hit your back. You try to shriek, but all that comes out is a moan. A pathetic, mewling sound.

The writing stops.

Footsteps, light and even against what sounds like wooden floorboards.

You hate that you recognise them as his.

Steb peers down at you, his frills flaring out for a brief moment before squishing flat against his cheekbones. He’s not in uniform, rather a form fitting long sleeved white shirt, and long dark pants. It's alarming, and although you've witnessed him take a similar form this entire week, you don't think you'll ever get used to the lack of uniform.

Form and take a course of action. “Where the fuck am I?” You scrap the words off the sore surface of your throat. Lord, it feels like somebody has taken a cheese grater to your gullet.

He reaches out a questioning hand towards you, and after a brief pause in which you say nothing, he moves to gently prop you against the bedframe. Out the window, the reaches of upper Zaun stretch out to meet your gaze.

Still in Zaun. Still hunting.

You try to peer closer, take further stock, but dizzily, your head lolls forward with a rush of pain.

Lightly, he puts a hand on your shoulder, and you snap back to attention. There’s a sheet of paper clutched in his other hand, one which he carefully pushes into your hands. Struggling to read with your bleary, red-stained eyes, you squint.

INCIDENT REPORT. The finely printed title reads. The space underneath is dotted with questions, all of which are neatly filled in, even space between each carefully stencilled letter. Reporting officer: Steb’s full name. Rank: Junior officer, for him. Then, your rank. Issued—

Two days. You were out of commission for two days. You can’t remember the last time you even slept a full eight hours— and here you were, sleeping for two whole days.

Hurriedly, you skim read the rest of the form.

Mild bruising to ribs, bruising to back, severe stab wound in back (no spinal injuries), injury to throat, damage to eyes and throat caused by the grey.

Compensation requested—

“Why are you showing me this?” It sounds harsher then intended, bitterness settling low in your gut. Perhaps it’s the intimacy, how gross and sweaty you are in your underclothes, or perhaps it’s how his hand is still on your shoulder that makes you snap.

You should brush it away, push him off of you. Pretend this never happened. You don’t.

He looks away, very briefly, and then turning the paper on its front, he places it upon the bedside table. Digging his fingers into his pocket, his pen slots in his hands once more. You listen as he quietly scribbles.

He places the paper before you, tapping the pen on the words he wants you to read.

I’M SORRY.

Sorry for what? You almost say, but it feels like a confession. How little you are accustomed to being apologised to, of all things. The meat does not apologize to the butcher.

You shake your head, ignoring how the movement makes you dizzy and how he flinches, pre-emptively moving to steady you. “Just…" You splay out a hand, waving him away. "...help me understand.”

He swallows, a small movement as he sits down on the bed beside you. His hands neatly fold themselves in his lap. You notice, somewhat dizzily, how his usually neatly slicked back hair is loose today, falling over his scalp in such a way as you can still see the comb lines. Something has been worrying him.

“Where is Kiramman? Or Maddie? Or anybody?” There’s a lapse in his polite posture. His head lolls down, his eyes sweeping the floor, his lips pursing and then he’s back, looking at you. It’s enough to know there’s some tension behind the question.

With a careful hand, he points towards the city.

“They just left?”

He shakes his head, running a hand up to prod his hair into submission as he does.

“Well. Clearly, they did.”

He sighs, probably realizing the need to verbally communicate is growing, and then fixes you with a look that would make any lesser Enforcer squirm.

Don't be difficult.

But you are no lesser Enforcer. You are hand-picked, trained, and a member of Kiramman's strike team.

(Loris's entry was questionable but you ignore that in favour of hyping yourself up.)

Perhaps that was the wrong train of thought to go down, because you stumble. Instead of coolly meeting his gaze, you land on a childish glare, and you've lost before the wrinkles that line his mouth make an appearance.

(Those goddamned wrinkles...)

You lean back, trying to cross your arms. Instead, you hit your back against the wooden headrest of the bed, sucking air between your teeth.

Knowing your position and purposely being difficult, you ask, words stained with pain, “Who took off my clothes?”

He reaches over, barely breaking eye contact with you for a second, to grasp the paper, scribbling down the words hastily. YOU HAD A FEVER AND ACCESS WAS NEEDED TO YOUR BACK.

A dull sense of joy grapples with you at the faint stress of his words, the smudged full stop. "That doesn't answer my question. Stop dodging it. Who?" you ask, knowing very well who did.

He gestures at himself.

Victory doesn't cradle you in its arm faster than visions of him unclothing you. Those linger. Those sink low in your gut and do not leave you.

“...When will they be back?” You choke out. He mimes a sun setting.

Shit. God, being alone with him is killing you.

Defeated, finally, you slump down.

"God fucking dammit." You mutter. Usually, you would receive a somewhat lecturing look from this, but he ignores you in favour of skim reading the paper and walking back to his prior place, where medical equipment is splayed out on the counter.

You've just dozed off when he returns, sitting back down, a cup of water and a small white pill in hand. "I'm not a child." You say frowning, but you take the glass from him anyways (do your fingers brush? no. see? dealing with this maturely) and you swallow the pill with a quick gulp.

Why are you still mad? A small part of you whispers. He apologized. Perhaps you're mad just for the sake of it. He understands that, you think. (you hope)

You just need to stop thinking about it. (Alone. Their hands settle over your goggles. You deserve this, you think, very distantly.)

You just need to wait for the medicine to settle in your stomach. Sinking, lower and lower in an ocean of it's own. Ocean? Blue. His eyes are blue. Baby blue—

You just need to stop thinking about him. Him? God, what are you to him? You will always be the butcher. You will always be the blood dribbling down their lower lip. You will always be a pawn. Hero, propaganda posters... he holds the baton and brings it down like the sword of a knight.

You just need to breathe.

Steb is over you before you can think. He's thinking about your bruised ribs, isn't he? When you gape and heave. The damage it might have caused. Is this your ribs, heaving? Puncturing a lung, rupturing a nerve? Are you dying? “I— I can’t—"

You can't breathe. You can feel their hands tightening around your throat. You can feel their blood dribbling down your cheek. You want to reach up to wipe it up, but do not, too scared of hurting yourself in the process.

Steb reaches over, and gently dabs at it with a tissue. You flinch as his fingers near your cheek, anticipating a blow, but none comes. He wipes the substance away gently. His skin, soft, embroidered with little sequined scales, brushes your cheek.

He pulls away. It's just snot. Saliva. Tears.

Are you crying?

Shame boils in your stomach. You. You are crying?

“I— I need a shower—” you need to snap out of it. You try to push yourself off the bed, but stumble. He’s already there, one arm wrapping around your back to support you. You do not look at him. You cannot bare to. You already know his pity will not cleanse you.

He leads you to the bathroom, the tiles cool against your bare feet. He settles you against the grimy counter, before taking a step back. Hovering. Waiting. For what? An explanation?

You feel like a voyeur watching him, finally, even as he meets your gaze. You will always be watching him across your post, the frills on his eyes flaring, his big, doleful blue eyes. You will always be watching the ark of his arms as he swings down, the gleam of the baton.

"Do you need to wash me too, now? Just fuck off." You rasp.

He leaves, and you let him.

You lock the door behind him.

࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Later, you hear voices— Maddie, Loris, Caitlyn, Vi.

You do not shower. Instead, you sit on the shower tiles and try to steady your rasping breathing. Each inhale hurts, bruised flesh and achy ribs snapping and scraping, and all you can feel is that blood, dripping down your face.

Loris visits you. He brings the gift of a flask, sitting beside you. He does not ask why you haven't showered, or why you find yourself on the tiled floor. You hate the kindness in his eyes. You hate the fact you know he will not leave.

The alcohol burns your ruined throat, at first. Then, you feel nothing at all.

Your shame cannot purify you. You already know that. But marinating in it allows, at least, you to bend it into something malleable. Something useable.

You ask him why they left you, passed out in a motel. “There was some… contention on it.” His mouth moves oddly around the words, almost like it tries to swallow them. You get the feeling he is repeating something somebody else said. You frown, and he pats your shoulder, gently. “Your guy wanted to stay with you, and we needed a break anyways. Caitlyn had a new lead. Disagreements.”

You try not to think about, 'your guy,'

Eventually, you push him out, listening as his voice joins those in the adjoining room. You hear him, Vi, and Caitlyn's footsteps as they leave, not some time later.

Take stock of your surroundings. You are in a shower. The tap is not on. The tiles are cool against your flesh. You are wearing a loose undershirt and undergarments. There is nobody in the room with you, but you can hear somebody outside speaking loosely. Maddie.

Access damage. There is bruising to your ribs and throat. You feel dizzy. You feel childish. You are drunk. Your are in love with somebody who is too good for you. You are always alone. You are beginning to doubt it is external forces leading you to always being alone.

You think you might be wrong. You think you might be wrong about a lot of things.

Form and take a course of action.

You probably need to finally take a shower.

Quickly, you discard of your garments, throwing them out to litter the counter. The relatively easy part done, you claw and grip the smooth tiled walls around you as you stumble to your feet. Your head spins, and you taste blood, harsh and wet on your tongue as you clumsily grapple for the handle, jerking it sideways. Freezing water cascades down to sear your sensitive skin.

You shriek, and hastily, you spin the handle the other way. A somewhat habitable temperature sprinkles from the nozzle, and finally, you stand, swaying under it.

Why did you do this again? Your head pounds, dizziness settling over each crinkle and curve of your brain and refusing to give itself a home elsewhere. The alcohol helps it.

Maybe you should sit down again. You don't. Instead, you lean against the wall, feeling each small start of pain as you breathe in and out. In and out, in... out...

Three, rapid consecutive knocks erupt from the doors place. Your fellow enforcer. Come to check on you after you shrieked like a cat in heat, perhaps.

There is a small pause as they wait for a response, one that drags on, before the door slowly creaks open, slow enough that you could call out if you so wish.

You don't.

He carefully pushes a long, slender teal arm through the gap, his hand pushing outwards to let you know it's him.

You already know, though. You recognised the knocks. How pathetic is that?

"Come in." You croak. He obliges, pulling his hand back, opening the door and carefully, like you are a spooked animal, stepping forward. The burst of teal is garish against the off-white tiles.

He’s not looking at you. It’s polite. You’re unclothed, after all. But you find yourself rather wishing he would as his eyes meet the empty bottle on the counter. A reminder of your exploits with Loris.

His expression changes, subtly. You’re too fucked up to make it out.

You’re looking at him, trying to carve the emotions you know are there out of the lines in his face, when you’re suddenly falling. Your knees hit the tiles with a crack, and you suck in air through your teeth, groaning.

He’s already on you before you have time to process the rapidly blooming bruises from your fall, swinging the shower door open. There’s a lapse, a pause, as he struggles to navigate helping you while not manhandling your drunken naked body, before he’s tilting your head up, glancing down at you, the tiles.

“I’m fineee.” You wave him off, batting his hand away. “All good. All good.”

You swear the look he fixes you with is worse than the pounding of your head.

“Oh, come on. All high and mighty, now?” You grimace. He sighs, still crouched before you. Faint stray droplets splatter across the fins lining his cheeks, and they flicker, shimmering under the cheap motel lights. In your woozy state, you cannot but stare in wonder.

He shifts.

“Don’t leave.” You quickly push out, perhaps sterner than intended. “I’m injured. I might die.” He swallows. You continue. “I— I’m sorry I yelled at you, earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

Carefully, he mimes calming you down, waving his hands out. Then, he shifts so his position is more comfortable looking, more permanent looking.

You almost collapse in relief.

Social etiquette demands you avert your gaze, pretend like you aren’t leaning over to watch him, his little micro expressions, his baby-blue eyes blinking, his second set of eyelids… whoever decided that shit was a rule probably never met him.

“Wash my hair?” You murmur. Is that odd? Are you allowed to ask that?

Conflict dances behind his eyes. You brace for a gentle rejection, and surprise yourself when he, forgoing removing his clothes, climbs in to sit beside you. The water continues to cascade down, though he doesn’t seem to mind.

The shampoo bottles, little cheap things, sit neatly on the floor beside you. He leans over, taking one in his hands and slathering it over his fingers. You lean against him, feeling him stiffen. His muscles lose their tension when you begin the speak, your words slurring into one another.

“God. Calm yourself, fish man. I’m not gonna to tear your face off. I’ve thought about it, though. Don’t get too comfortable.”

You bark a laugh, turning your head towards him. Your faces are close enough that you feel his breathing, warm against your wet skin, before he, gently, mind you, grips your head in his hands and turns you forward.

Fair enough.

Coconut, something rich and creamy, and the faintest hit of orange, drips through your scalp, cool, but not uncomfortably cool, against your skin. It’s nice. His fingers are careful, as always, and you can’t help your mind wondering towards them tugging.

Trying to push the thoughts away from your traitorous mind, you start to stumble over your words. “I think I’m going insane. Really. Jinx’s tricks. Kiramman on my ass. Fucking politics. A curse to live in interesting times, huh?”

God, you are a chatty drunk.

“They’re all worried about civil war, infighting, and shit. I… This isn’t what I signed up for.” Your voice is quieter, now. Too quiet, for your liking. “This… the threat was… it was never…”

You hope he cannot hear you. You know he can.

"Do you think we're doing the wrong thing? We're hunting them like dogs." You say, finally. He hums, his fingers gently massaging the shampoo into your hair before letting you go. You find yourself missing the contact.

Carefully, the lines thick and smooth against the precipitation, he stencils his words against the glass shower frame. YOUNG. STILL TIME.

“I’m young? You’re just like— like thirty? Late twenties? I think? You’re not old.” You drunkenly slur. Is that what he thinks of you? An overeager, ambitious youth? Is that why he cares? Is that why he’s washing your hair?

He smiles, you think, making a small noise. It’s such an odd sight you turn, and almost accidently push yourselves together with your drunken reflexes. He’s tall enough that you don’t smash faces, but your forehead grazes his lips, the warmth of him seeping into you.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. Flickers of a smile still dance in his eyes. “Forward. Right, right. Right.”

You turn forwards.

A long pause.

“…does it get easier? I just… I don’t think I’m doing the right thing. The future is so murky, like this fucking grey, and I— I don’t know how much more of it I want to inhale trying to see.”

He doesn’t reply. You’re about to start talking again, maybe turn around again, when you feel it.

He hesitantly, very gently, presses his forehead to your shoulder blade. You feel his skin. You feel his breath, low and hot on your back.

He angles his head up, until his mouth gently pushes against the crook of your skin.

You think you hear him kiss the curve.

“Oh.” You say, very simply and very stupidly.

A moment passes, one you should probably fill. You do not. His warmth leaves you, and then he’s back to washing your hair, massaging the shampoo out of your hair like he didn’t just shatter and then rebuild your heart in your chest.

You take initiative. Your professors back at school always said it was your best trait, after all. You turn, and cradling his skull in your hands, you shift. The soft stubble growing out of the shaved sides he hasn’t been able to maintain brushes against your palms.

“Everybody leaves me. You won’t, right? Leave me?” He nods, and you see something else dip into his expression. Perhaps the realization of your circumstances, how vulnerable you are, drunk, naked and depressed. He's always been such the gentlemen. You hate it.

He gently pries your hands off of him. Fear spikes through you. He cannot leave. He cannot leave, not yet. You grapple for the conditioner bottle. "Hey, come on. You're not done yet, are you?"

He does not leave. What he does is so, so much worse.

He takes the bottle from you and continues. His movement is gentle. His movement is soft. You’ve watched him beat somebody within an inch of their life. You’ve watched him handle a rifle with even-precision. You’ve watched him, stoic and calm under pressure that would have you crawling into your skin.

And yet his hands are still tender.

You don’t know how long you sit there, his fingers threading through your hair, and then you’re up, shivering. A warm towel is promptly wrapped around you. Everything blurs, spins. You don’t think you’ve ever been so tired in your life.

"Goodnight." He whispers to you, his fingers lingering on your shoulder. When did you get here? Pillows, cradling you, the hard motel mattress beneath you…

His hands are gentle, and you are so very wanting, but he still leaves, and you still let him.

࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

You wake remembering every moment of the night before you and hating it.

The open windows breeze carries the cities air, thick with smog, cigarettes, and chatter, into the room. Sleepily, you watch the sunlight flicker across the bedsheets, before you heave yourself up, taking stock of your area.

Maddie is gently snoring beside you, her red hair splayed out around her, uniform discarded. Loris is on the floor, obviously having been kicked out during the night. (You don’t want to think about why your glorious leader and her adoring, yet scary dog might object to company. Grossssssss.)

And Steb. Steb is across from you, wrangling with his clothes. The same shirt from last night, the white, long-sleeved one, is draped across the window to dry, along with his pants. Always the early bird.

You meet his eyes.

He nods once, very gently, before pointing beside you to the bedside table. A glass of water. Pills for your headache.

You take them gratefully and yearn.

࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

You will not be letting them leave. Not again. Not Steb, not Maddie, not Loris, not even Vi and Caitlynn. Not now when you know how far you can fall; how hard you can scrape rock-bottom.

You will not be alone again.

࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Notes:

oh… haha, act 3 happened and i let’s just say… you will be letting them leave ao9jioehfihrfioerhfierfhrfi Suggest any ideas you may have!!! Part two of chatty reader coming next. No more angst!!! AND MORE KISSING (or will I write another 3000 words of yearning… this is my curse)

@skyetheseagull, who asked to be tagged.

thank you all for the kind words! I read and cherish them all

#arcane #steb #steb arcane #arcane season 2 #steb x reader #arcane steb #arcane season two spoilers #x reader #stebxreader #ngl i kinda hate this one #maybe because i've been working on it for too long...#oh well

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stardewstardropthoughts · 1 year ago

Note

Harvey is my go to bachelor in stardew but I've been thinking...

What if you break up/divorce him and start avoiding him, but one day, you pass out in the mines (literally on the verge of death) and have to be rushed to his clinic. </3

The pure heartbreak

I'm so sorry this is written like absolute garbage because it's been so long and I genuinely might rewrite this one at some point lmao but for now I offer this 💙

Content warnings: this one's not written as well as I would like, angst, No comfort, near death, hospital stuff terribly written also, gender neutral reader, all my hospital knowledge is from grey's anatomy I'm so sorry 😂

When you almost die in the mines and Harvey has to take care of you after you broke up with him

You never gave harvey an explanation as to why you broke up with him, it was something you were dealing with on your own and you thought youd only drag him down with you so you decided to break it off with him

You had been avoiding him around town, opting to avoid your scheduled wellness checks and see a doctor in the next town, which hurt harveys feelings lowkey

He still desperately loves you, hes been blaming himself for the breakup, worried he was too clingy or too overbearing and that you felt suffocated, but you wouldnt talk to him, so he couldnt ask the questions he had

Next thing he knew it was around midnight, someone was pounding on the door to the clinic and harvey almost didnt answer, but decided it was probably important given the time and how loud they were being

Harveys immediately panicking when he sees you, looking rather lifeless in Demetrius's arms. "I found them just inside the mines like this, i dont know what happened but i thought id best bring them to you" he explained to harvey who was immediately thanking him, directing him to place you on a hospital bed

"Come on, your gonna be okay, dont die on me now sweetheart" harvey mumbles to himself as he assesses your injuries, his heart is breaking at the sight, your barely breathing, pulse slow and weak, he has to drain blood from your lungs, after many hours of work your stable, still unconscious but stable

Harvey had a whole panic attack as he sits by your bedside, he wouldnt leave you if his life deoended on it at this moment, "your going to be alright, i cant lose you again my love" he mumbles softly as he holds one of your hands gently, his eyes are puffy and red from crying

When you wake up hours later your confused and disoriented, looking around the room, your eyes land on harvey, whos looking at you nervously "you were badly injured, Demetrius carried you here" he explained softly, gently squeezing your hand "you....i know i have no right to ask you to stay out of the mines, but please, be more careful, you could have died" he manages to say through a tight knot in his throat at the thought

"Im sorry" you manage to say, though your voice is strained, harvey looks like an absolute wreck and you feel horrid "dont apologize, your alive love, thats all i could ask for" he whispers quietly as he squeezes your hand

"I...." You begin trying to explain to him why you broke up with him to begin with, but the words dont seem to want to come out of your mouth, "rest" harvey says, getting up to check your vitals and make sure your improving before leaving the room, he needs a moment to compose himself from his near continuous break down

#stardew valley #stardew fanfic #stardew farmer #stardew x reader #stardew headcanon #stardew harvey #stardew angst #sdv angst #sdv harvey

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marie-swriting · 1 year ago

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Need More Fanfics ? Part.2

Marvel

Killer (Kate Bishop x reader) by @upat4amwiththemoon

Vigilante Shit | Part two (Kate Bishop x BlackHill!reader) by @upat4amwiththemoon

Clint's Stray (Kate Bishop x reader) by @maximoffsmuse

Never Let Go (Kate Bishop x reader) by @lightupthemoon

Frost Covered Window (Kate Bishop x reader) by @mayfieldss

The Scrapbook of You and I (Kate Bishop x reader) by deactivated account

Bullseye (Kate Bishop x deaf!reader) by @olsenmyolsen

Unpacking (Carol Danvers x reader) by @yelenasdiary

Care Bear (Carol Danvers x reader) by @captains-simp

Home For Christmas (Bucky Barnes x reader) by @onceuponastory

In Every Lifetime (Bucky Barnes x reader) by @wkemeup

Bi (Bucky Barnes x daughter!reader) by @alyswritings

I've Got You (Bucky Barnes x reader) by @onceuponastory

Lessons In Chemistry (TASM!Peter Parker x reader) by @mayfieldss

Field Trips-Not Just Educational (TASM!Peter Parker x reader) by @withahappyrefrain

Black Velvet (Natasha Romanoff x reader) by @imtryingbuck

Society Says (Steve Rogers x Tall!reader) by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Nice To Be Kneaded (Steve Rogers x reader) [serie masterlist] by @rogersideup

Thirty-Two Years (Sam Wilson x reader) by @thepokyone

Criminal Minds

Starry Night (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @criminalmindswhore

Secret Santa (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @max-the-d0g

I Guess Sometimes We All Get Just What We Wanted (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @bi-bard

Untitled (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @reidsdaisies

My Favorite Medicine Is You (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @ssa-sugar-tits

Leave It At The Door (Emily Prentiss x plus size!reader) by @hannibals-favourite-meal (Minors do not interact as the author wishes!)

Wandering Hands (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @emilys-bangs

Showing The Bird (Spencer Reid x daughter!reader) by @letarasstuff

Sneaking Out (Derek Morgan x daughter!reader) by @rachaelswrites

Top Gun

My Heart Will Go On (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader), Titanic AU by @averagewriter-inthedark (⚠️TW : deaths and light smut, Minors do not interact as the author wishes!)

Driving Home From Christmas (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader) by @callsign-phoenix

Sweetest Devotion (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader) by @sometimesanalice

Don't Mess With The Storm (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader) by @mamsieur

A Glimpse of Them (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader) by @bradshawsbaby

G-Lock Too Far (Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x reader) by @frost-queen

Let Your Senses Guide You (Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x reader) by @topguncortez (⚠️TW : panic attack)

Untitled (Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x reader) by @callsign-phoenix

Making You Proud (Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x daughter!reader) by @justabigassnerd

Nice Guys Always Finish Last (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader) [serie masterlist] by deactivated account

Outer Banks

Thunder = Luke (JJ Maybanks x sister!reader) by @alyswritings (⚠️TW : mention of abuse)

Supernatural

Those Christmas Lights (Light Up The Street) (Dean Winchester x child!reader) by @yourmomxx

I'll Always Cath You (Dean Winchester x sister!reader) by @winchesters-favorite-girl

Stranger Things

Fall For You (Chrissy Cunningham x reader) by @tommiruewrites

Say You Want Me Too (Robin Buckley x reader) by @sparklingsin

Come Into The Water (Robin Buckley x reader) by deactivated account

Kissing Lessons (Robin Buckley x reader) by @jellyfishbeansontoast

Favorite Song (Steve Harrington x sister!reader) by @alyswritings

Bridgerton

Angel In The Sky (Benedict Bridgerton x reader) by @inkedobsidian

Enchantment (Benedict Bridgerton x reader) by deactivated account

Joy (Benedict Bridgerton x reader) by @redheadspark

Pinkish Clouds (Anthony Bridgerton x reader) by @d-targaryenshoe

Grey's Anatomy

You’ve Got Me (Jackson Avery x reader) by @starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies

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17panicattacksinatrenchcoat · 20 days ago

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writemas day 2!!!

merry writemas everyone! writemas is a holiday writing game by @agirlandherquill ! anyone is welcome to join in!

today my prompt was "ice". this sorta came to me all in one piece... hope you like it!

content warning: panic attacks, broken bones, a traumatic brain injury, death, and hypothermia

writemas day 2 feeling prompt: ice

The last day I saw you awake was the day we went ice skating: the February of our senior year. It was twenty degrees outside and puffy white clouds socketed the perfect teal of the sky. Mounds of snow glittered on the ground. Our town was bite-sized and surrounded for miles by encroaching masses of trees. In summer, these woods terrified me: brimful with animals and oak branches that reached out over the roads in a manner that seemed carnivorous to me. That day, though, the trees had all lost their leaves save for the pines, and we had a yearly tradition of skating on the frozen lake half a mile from town. I came to your house that morning to get you. You had on too few layers for the cold: one chic black coat, a red scarf, cargo pants, boots. But you were used to the cold because you went to our town's one --albeit dilapidated-- skating rink every chance you got. You'd twirl for hours while I shivered alone in the stands: rail-thin, you were so quick on the ice that it looked like you were flying. I was late picking you up because it was a weekend and I'd had work in the morning. This was my first mistake, though I didn't realize it at the time. It was still mid-afternoon, hours before it would get dark. I thought it would be safe. We walked down the road with our fingers linked together. The sun was shining and its light gilded the power lines a blinding yellow. On the annual skating checklist: hot chocolates payed for at the gas station at the top of the hill, then dumped into our thermoses from the flimsy paper cups. A snowball fight on the way down to the lake punctuated by our laughter. Then skating in laps around the lake. Every time we went you tried to break your previous year's record. I had to drop out after fifteen laps or so and catch my breath, watching you. When you passed me each time, I waved at you, but you didn't see; your eyes were distant and set on the sky as if preparing for takeoff. I knew how badly you wanted to fly: as a child you were obsessed with winged things, fairies and vultures. You'd broken your arm by jumping off the top of a jungle gym. You wanted to overturn the laws of human anatomy. And you did, minutes later. You flew.

Because watching you made me dizzy, I'd turned around to look at the snowy woods. A stag stood far off. I was mesmerized by him, but he bolted away when he became aware of us. When I looked back, you were finishing off your lap and speeding around the sharpest curve of the lake. The bank was drawing too close too quickly, and you realized you had to turn to keep from crashing face-first into the snow. But you made your move too late, and your ankle gave at an odd angle. There was an audible pop. You lurched to your side and soared away from the bank. The first part of your body to slam into the ice was your head. Later, I would learn from the doctors that the impact fractured your skull, and an artery in your temple burst. Sitting beside your bed in a metal folding chair catatonic and shivering, I pictured a wave of red overwriting the functions of your brain. Whatever I expected a breaking skull to sound like (an egg being cracked wetly into a bowl? a shattering beer bottle?) it wasn't a dull, final thud: too much like shutting a book, like ending a story. I forgot I was wearing skates and tried to run. I slipped and spilled the contents of my thermos down my coat, and I slid towards you on my stomach and knocked into your body. I scrambled to my knees. Your eyes were open but they lacked their usual mischievous light. A bruise tinged the side of your face grey-blue. I said your name, and you did not respond. Then I said it louder. Then I did something that I am not proud of: I seized your shoulders and shook you. Hard. The wind and the wetness of my clothes addled my mind. I realized whatever I was doing wasn't helping and stopped. Your mouth had fallen open in the struggle, which gave you a dazed look. I'd heard about CPR and rescue breaths but had never learned how to do them. My phone was cobwebbed with cracks from my fall, and when I pressed the power button, it failed to turn on.

I sat on the ice for a long time trying to figure out what to do. I recovered my senses when I registered a new presence in my peripheral vision, and I jolted upright, thinking it was a person who had happened upon us by chance, and who might be able to help. But it was a shadow: the sun was sinking into the west, and the sky was tinged a violent red at its horizon. Soon night would descend. I would have cried if I hadn't been so numb. My face was stiff with cold. My eyes felt hard-boiled. Some animal, adrenaline-fueled instinct told me I had to move. Whatever it was it got me standing up. I took your scarf and towed you as best as I could to the shore, where I removed my skates, hefted both our packs onto my back, and lifted your broken body into my arms. You were heavier than I thought: though you were so much smaller than me, the winter layers and your slack weight did their toll. Before I was halfway up the hill my arms burned with exhaustion, and my vision shifted in and out of focus like a cheap camera lens. I remember having the alarming notion of laying down in the snow for a rest, but I did not give into it. It was less my will to live that propelled me forward but more this idea that I had to deliver you somewhere; I'd forgotten where. By the time I crested the hill I was dragging you and shambling. I did make it to the gas station; it was about thirty feet from where I emerged from the woods. I do not remember much of the walk other than how the 24-7 lights wavered in the distance: a beacon. The red-haired cashier, who at that moment was finishing her shift, looked up when she heard the doorbell jingle, and stared at me in noncomprehension and then in alarm. What I remember the most is the way that the heated air melted on my skin. I dropped you and crumpled onto the tiled floor. I could hear the cashier calling 911. Her voice sounded distorted, like she was speaking through water. Lights flashed outside the glass door and refracted onto the snow. Red. Blue. Red. Blue.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #writer stuff #writers of tumblr #writemas #writers #writers and poets #17panicattacksinatrenchcoat

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cyborg-franky · 2 years ago

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Study Session..

Thank you to another supporter. I had fun, I haven't written a long fun pre-skip Law style fic in a hot sec. So please enjoy this <3

Law x GN Reader Modern AU SFW but suggestive in places WC: 1,250

You were in a foul mood, you hated biology with your entire being and what was worse was your friends seemed to be doing fine, great and they even went as far as to suggest a tutor to help you out. You didn't want help, you didn’t need help. But your friends reminded you that you very much needed this class to pass or you were going to fail and have to do the entire year again. And you hated that they were right.

So sucking up your pride, and getting the biggest drink you could from your favorite cafe, you sat in your dorm room waiting for this tutor. He came highly recommended by everyone who’d used him. Your best friend had even had a few private lessons with him and said he was more than worth the cost and the time.

The phrasing had made you curious, considering as they said it they had this dumb look on their face and the hint of a blush. You didn’t think much about it though, just sipped your drink and glared out the window, eyes falling to the clock on your desk, watching the minutes tick down as your annoyance at the situation grew.

A knock at the door brought you out of it, shaking your head and standing up, not caring if you looked scruffy, just wanting to be comfy in your own space. Opening the door you stared at the man standing there.

Law quirked an eyebrow when you stood there with your mouth open, words failing to formulate as you started to imitate a fish out of water. You were suddenly aware of the state you were in, the messy hair, comfy shapeless clothes, caring very much how you looked now a very handsome man was standing at your door with a look on his face that said this person is nuts.

“Oh hey,” Wow, brilliant, what a great first impression. “Come in!” You almost pulled the door into your face as you held it open for him. You babbled out your introduction, giving your name and seeing the slight smirk on his lips.

“I know, we exchanged names in the email.” His tone was smug and you half hated it and half wanted to lay at his feet and ask him nicely to step on you. But you composed yourself, brushing some hair back, attempting to look somewhat put together, failing.

“Right, so your fucking up your class.” He started and helped himself to the one chair at your desk, leaving you to perch on the end of your bed, still fumbling over yourself, too busy staring at the dark hair, all the tattoos on show, his piercings.

You wished someone would have warned you he was hot and 100% your type. He shuffled the chair over and nodded to the chair that belonged to your roommate, he wanted you to sit by him? Was he crazy? Couldn’t he see the internal panic attack you were having over this entire thing? You didn’t want Law to use his sharp tongue again so you did as he suggested, pulling the seat over but keeping enough space between you that you wouldn’t explode at how nice he smelt.

Too late.

You took in a whiff of his cologne and tried to be cool about it. Simply taking a sigh and grabbing the big stack of books and notes. Flipping one over, his beautiful icy stare of steel grey flicked from you and over the notes. He clicked his tongue and read over the pages.

“Your handwriting, how do you ever read notes?” He commented, rolling up the sleeves of his yellow hoody and leaning on the table, using a painted nail to follow the scribble that passed as your notes. “Alright, I think I see what you are struggling with… anatomy isn’t an easy subject, there are a lot of fussy Latin names to remember and so many complex systems.” He hummed and you relaxed a little, only slightly pissed he’d insulted your handwriting.

“I manage,” You replied. You wanted to tell the handsome man to fuck off but you also very much wanted him to stick around. You were caught between a rock and a hot place it seemed, you looked at the book he opened. “Alright, this is what I always use to teach, it's handy because it simplifies things better than the crusty books the classes suggest.”

Law moved over, closer to you, his arm brushing against yours as he tapped the page, making you stare at what was written there but you struggled to think about anything other than how close he was. He snapped his fingers and you blinked, pulling your attention away from thoughts of his hands over your anatomy and down to the diagram.

“Little distracted? That’s fine, I don’t mind if you stare at me instead…” Law said, the smile on his face growing, a brow quirked as you felt the heat burn your cheeks, mouth hanging open once again. Was he hitting on you? Your pulse raced and your heart beat faster but he just chuckled. “I’m getting paid either way.” Law shrugged.

OH! You little… you dragged yourself kicking and screaming from your thoughts of him and you kissing, rolling around on your single-person bed to fix him a narrowed glare as he chuckled, leaning back in his seat.

“Jokes aside,” He said and stood up, moving behind you.”So, I think it might be easier for you to learn the practical way…” He began, his hands resting on your shoulder. Your mind blanked as he spoke to you in that smooth deep voice, feeling his hands moving down your back, along your shoulder blades, down your arms leaving a pleasant tingle as fingertips danced over your arms.

He was trying to tell you each bone’s name in your arms, how they connected, he was trying to teach you but you were far too busy in space basking in the attention he was giving you. Making up scenarios all over again. Fighting yourself to keep your eyes open and not whimper, he must have already thought you were a complete hormone-driven idiot.

So entranced in the touches, and the close proximity to the sexy tutor you barely registered when his hands returned to your shoulder, he leaned forward, and his warm breath danced across your ear. “And this, this is commonly known as the ‘collarbone’ Do you recall its medical name?” Law asked as diligent digits danced over your skin, sending the most wonderful shiver down your spine.

You couldn't think, struggling, just wanting to feel those firm tattooed hands drifting further down. “C-clavicle?” you breathed a sigh when he moved, just a little, hands leaving your skin. You were disappointed but you got to glance over your shoulder and see the wicked smirk on his handsome face.

“Not bad, but I think we need to spend more time together, don’t you?” He chuckled when you nodded your head, so much for not seeming too eager.

As you watched him pull out his planner, and start to write up notes you couldn’t help but wonder if he wanted more time from you because he enjoyed teasing you, enjoyed your company, or wanted more money.

The more you watched Law, studied his face, watched his lips which seemed to be permanently curled into a smirk, you decided you didn’t care which reason it was. You knew at that point the handsome tutor had you in a chokehold.

And you wanted more.

#gn reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #law op #law x reader #law x you #law x yourname #law x y/n #law x yn #sfw #modern au #one piece #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x yourname #one piece reader insert #law trafalgar

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jenniferjareauwife · 9 months ago

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Guidelines

Who I Will Write For

Jennifer Jareau (Criminal Minds)

Natasha Romanoff (Marvel)

Wanda Maximoff (Marvel)

Carina DeLuca (Station 19 & Grey's Anatomy)

Maya Bishop (Station 19)

What I Will Write

x fem reader (romantic), x daughter reader

(I will write a lot of things but if I'm uncomfortable with your request I won't)

Hurt/Comfort

Heavy topics (Eating Disorders, Panic Attacks, Self Harm, etc)

Fluff

Smut (I PREFER BOTTOM R)

Angst

Basically any smut except anal (just request and if i'm not comfortable i'll tell you and you can leave another request)

Masterlists

Jennifer Jareau Masterlist

Carina DeLuca Masterlist

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Maya Bishop Masterlist

Rio Vidal Masterlist

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shotos-angelic-whore · 10 months ago

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ONE

cw: cancer, swearing, bakugo has a mini panic attack, inaccurate medical terms (everything I know is from Grey’s Anatomy), if I missed anything let me know

Staring at herself in the mirror, she repeats the words: you're beautiful, over and over; to try and convince herself to believe it.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom and knocking lightly on the door. "You shouldn't have to convince yourself that you're beautiful; you should already know that you are." He approaches her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing her shoulder.

"I just haven't felt like it since shaving my head two months ago," she says, looking at him through the mirror.

"Well, I think you're beautiful—with or without hair," he smiles, kissing her cheek. “Plus, if you didn’t shave your head, it would’ve been more difficult for the surgeons.”

Her frown turns into a smile as his lips make contact with her cheek. "Thank you, Katsuki." she turns around in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I wanted to ask you something,” he says, looking down at her in awe.

"Ask away," she smiles.

"My class from UA has a ten year reunion coming up in about a month. And Kirishima is really pressing for me to attend. So I was wondering if you'd like to be my plus one?" he questions.

"And get to meet all your friends from high school, l'd love too!" she exclaims, placing a kiss on his lips.

"Good." he kisses back.

She pulls away from the embrace and jumps up and down in excitement. "This gives me an excuse to wear a fancy dress and a wig!”

“[Y/n], I’ve told you: I don’t have a problem being seen with you without a wig.” he says with sincerity.

“And I’ve told you, Katsuki: I don’t feel comfortable going places without a wig. I get weird looks and people tend to stare.” she pouts.

“If anyone gives you a hard time, I’ll blow them up,” he smiles at her.

“I’ll consider not wearing one,” she smiles in return. “But no promises,” she leans up and pecks his lips.

“I can deal with that,” he says as she pulls away and turns on the faucet in the tub, allowing the water to heat up before she starts getting undressed.

“Care to join me?” she smiles over her shoulder at her husband, knowing damn well he won’t say no.

“Of course!” he strips himself of his clothing, stepping into the tub of warm water and sitting down. She sits between his legs, her back against his chest. He places a kiss to the back of her shoulder blades, whispering a quiet ‘I love you’. To which she responds with: ‘I love you more’.

~~~~~

A week later, Katsuki returns home one night after patrol to find his wife passed out on the kitchen floor.

“[Y/N]!” He rushes to her side to see if she’s still breathing. He quickly calls an ambulance when he can’t get her to wake up. When the phone is picked up, he doesn’t give the receiver a chance to say anything before saying: “I got home to my wife passed out on the kitchen floor, I can’t get her to wake up!” His voice wavers as he pulls her head into his lap.

Feeling something wet and sticky on the scarf covering her head, he looks at his hand. Blood. “OK, breathe. What’s the address?” The lady questions.

He gives her the address and adds, “She hit her head pretty hard, she’s bleeding.” He can’t help the tears that fall free.

“Ok, there’s an ambulance on its way. What’s your name?” The lady says calmly.

“Katsuki Bakugo. My wife’s name is [Y/n].” He answers, looking at her face.

“Katsuki Baku-” the lady cuts herself off, but quickly regains composure after realizing Pro Hero Dynamight is calling because his wife passed out in the kitchen.

“Do you want to stay on the pho-” he hangs up, not wanting to deal with this phone lady being so calm.

He knows she has to be, but he can’t stand it. Paramedics rush into the house—Katsuki left it open—and quickly make their way to [Y/n]’s limp body.

“Sir, you need to let go of her so we can take care of her,” says the woman paramedic.

Katsuki looks up at her and nods. The paramedic gently takes [Y/n] out of Katsuki’s lap and gets her up and the gurney, checking vitals.

“Pulse is weak, but there.”

Another paramedic opens [Y/n]’s eyes and shines a light in them. “No response.”

The chatter amongst the rushing paramedics drown out as Katsuki stands in the kitchen staring at his hand covered in her blood. He’s had blood on his hands before; he is the number two Hero after all. But this was [Y/n]’s blood. His wife’s blood.

He suddenly finds himself struggling to breathe, the sound of his heartbeat behind his ears becoming too much. Everything becomes too much. The sirens of the ambulance and cop cars, the paramedics rushing around to help [Y/n], the lights in the kitchen, even the feeling of his clothes on his skin was too much.

“Sir,” the same paramedic from before looks into Katsuki’s eyes, waving her hand in front of his face. “Sir, it’s alright we’re gonna take care of her. Are you riding in the ambulance with her?” Katsuki only nods in response, not able to form words. “OK, come on,” she places a hand on his shoulder and leads him into ambulance, where [Y/n] is laying completely still on the gurney, a heart monitor beeping very slowly, and a male paramedic tending to her head wound.

Usually if someone other than [Y/n], or friends and family touches him, he’d pull away; but he can’t.

He steps up into the ambulance, sitting in the seat designated for the other person, and grabs his wife’s hand. Running his thumb over her wedding band, he whispers: “Stay with me, [Y/n], please.”

Once at the ER, the paramedics rush [Y/n] into the building.

“[Y/n] Bakugo. Female. 26 years old. Husband found her passed out on the kitchen floor when he got home. She’s got a wound on her head from the fall and her pulse is weak.” Says the male paramedic.

“OK, trauma room two.” Says a doctor, stopping Katsuki as he goes to follow. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.”

Katsuki look at the doctor with tear filled eyes. “She had brain surgery two months ago. They took out her cancer.” He informs. “Please tell me it’s not back,” he pleads.

“It’s too soon to tell, we’ll get her to a CT and let you know. I’m Dr. Suzuki and I will personally keep you updated.” She nods. “Go ahead and make some calls to family and friends who you would want here, alright.” She says, following as the other doctors roll the bed [Y/n] is on out of the trauma room and into the main hospital.

masterlist • next

#mha #katsuki bakugo #bnha #bakugo katsuki #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo fanfiction #katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

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lisacameron99 · 5 months ago

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Masterlist

Series:

Pretty Little Liars

The One With The Cast -https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759467805401808896/the-one-with-the-cast?source=share

The One With The Playlist -https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759467215721512960/playlist-for-pretty-little-liars-fanfiction?source=share

The One With The Pilot Part 1 - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759470470841188352/the-one-with-the-pilot?source=share

The One With The Pilot Part 2 - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759532116834942976/the-one-with-the-pilot-part-2?source=share

The One With The Jenna Thing Part 1 - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759534837857140736/the-one-with-the-jenna-thing-part-1?source=share

The One With The Jenna Thing Part 2 - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759534924339494912/the-one-with-the-jenna-thing-part-2?source=share

The One With The Jenna Thing Part 3 - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759543111985840128/the-jenna-thing-part-3?source=share

The One With To Kill A Mocking Bird Part 1 - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759891998472798208/the-one-with-to-kill-a-mocking-girl-part-1?source=share

The One With To Kill A Mocking Bird Part 2- https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/759892282434633728/to-kill-a-mocking-girl-part-2?source=share

JJ Maybank

Scared - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/749237940065107969/scared-jm-warnings-depression-suicide

Preggers - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/750506953697099776/preggers-jm-pairing-jj-maybank-x-oc-summary

Taylor Pt 1 - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/755251194698579968/taylor-part-1-jj-x-routledgeoc-summary

Taylor Pt 2 - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/755943395802873856/taylor-pt-2

Stranger - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/764087552019972096/jj-x-routledgereader-stranger-not

Second -

https://www.tumblr.com/melissacameron4/767806838338109440/im-late-j-know-im-late-jj-said-rushing?source=share

Rafe Cameron

Recovery - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/763825900345245696/short-but-sweet-rw-addiction-recovery-ward.

Stiles Stilinski

Stuck - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/763193929200959489/incorrect-quotethought-you-and-stiles-are-stuck

Spencer Reid

Revelations - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/756396225557872640/revelation-sr

Pressure - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/749578315888803840/pressure-sr-warnings-panic-attack-anxiety

Jason DiLaurentis

Dress - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/753906259181338624/hi-i-was-wondering-if-you-would-be-willing-to-do

Anthony Bridgerton

Loss - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/755762900421967872/anthony-x-oc-polly-featherington-summary-kate

Atticus Lincoln

Interns - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/751408529644175360/interns (actually Amelia but idk)

Sick - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/749783946452140032/greys-anatomy-request-can-you-do-one-please

Lucas Adams

Sick -https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/756919392838762496/can-you-do-one-please-yasuda-and-lucas

Jack Gibson

Fighting - https://www.tumblr.com/celiawrites14/751407011722412032/could-you-make-a-jack-gibson-x-female-reader

JJ (Jennifer Jareau)

Sexy Times -

https://www.tumblr.com/lisacameron99/767808133155438592/if-there-was-one-thing-that-you-loved-more-than?source=share

#fanfiction #greys anatomy #greysanatomy #station 19 #station19 #outer banks #outerbanks #bridgerton #criminal minds #spencer Reid #jj maybank #Jason dilaurentis #pretty little liars #pll #jack Gibson #masterlist #pretty little liars series #pll series

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darkmagyk · 7 months ago

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The crazy thing about work is that your boss or something will be like "how are you?"

And instead of saying "I had three panic attacks and have had a pretty extreme spike in suicidal ideation because of you."

You just smile and say "good." And then try to match the conversation they were having about starting Grey's Anatomy with how you started a horror podcast.

And they still look at you like a freak.

#suicide mention

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she-karev · 2 months ago

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Breakdown (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister PTSD Imagine)

Age Rating: 18+

Chapters: One of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 10

TRIGGER WARNING: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Flashback, Nightmare, Depression

AN: Hey guys so I felt angsty and wanted to showcase doctors that suffered from PTSD during the pandemic. PTSD from this trauma is very real and it makes it clear that healthcare workers deserved better back then. So I wanted to show that with my main character, Amber Karev, who realistically would crumble at the pandemic and her relationship problems as well as her childhood trauma. I want to show that asking for help is nothing to be ashamed of, it’s okay not to be okay.

Summary: Amber has nightmares and flashbacks from being overwhelmed by the pandemic with her struggles being noted by her best friend, Jackson Avery, and her boyfriend, Andrew DeLuca, who try to help her. She makes a mistake that almost harmed a patient causing Jackson to step in and help. Later he tells her that she is slipping at work and tries to encourage her to get help but Amber refuses citing that she will get over it.

Words: 4724

“Push one of Epi!” Amber feels the ribs under her hands break as she applies CPR to her dying covid patient who is crashing. The exertion is making the resident breathe hard under her mask that feels hot against her mouth with the goggles around her eyes tight enough to leave bruises. Amber ignores her own feelings of being suffocated to focus on saving the elderly woman under her care.

“Epi is in.” Amber sees the monitor is still flatlining despite combined Epi and CPR. The sound is deafening to her as she has heard it for the last two months from her time in the covid ward. It is a ringing in her ears that is a constant reminder of the death and suffering that is spreading worldwide.

She looks back down at the patient who changed before her eyes. Instead of an old woman under her fist it is her oldest brother, Alex. The sight makes her want to stop but applying CPR is integrated in her and is instinct to never stop. She closes her eyes to shake the image away while pressing down his chest with all her might.

Amber opens her eyes to find Jackson Avery on the bed instead. The sound of the monitor flatline raises Amber’s heartrate as her breathing begins to thin feeling like the air is not getting in her lungs. Every blink she takes the person on the bed shifts to Jo, and then April, and then Carina and finally Andrew DeLuca who is still lying there no matter how much she blinks or closes her eyes.

Instead of the warm and lively man that she loves she sees a pale imitation that is cold to the touch. Amber stops breathing as she registers this before her hands stop compressions. She wants to keep going, make sure he’s alive but her shock is making her freeze in place.

It is like she is dying in that room along with Andrew except unlike him, her heart is beating in her chest like a jackrabbit. The pain in her chest feels like her heart is trying to beat out of her body. Normally she would react to this by clutching her chest by right now except her limbs feel like their made of concrete.

The only sound that is heard in this dimming patient room is the monitor flatlining. Amber can’t discern anything else except the flatline that starts to ring in her ears. She stands there frozen with the nurse not even lifting a finger to help Andrew who is dying in front of their eyes. Instead the nurse speaks to Amber in a neutral tone. The words from the nurse are muffled to Amber due to the ringing in her ears. However she can discern what the nurse is saying, even muffled these are words she has heard so many times it is every doctors unofficial mantra.

“Time of death…”

May 18th, 2020

Amber wakes up with a gasp desperate to breathe. Instead of the hospital she is in bed with Andrew beside her sleeping. She looks at him relieved to hear his light snoring that indicates it was a nightmare. Her heart is still beating fast, she rubs her own chest desperate for relief. Amber inhales deeply and exhales slowly until her chest soothes the constrictions that followed her from her dream.

Once her heart rate decreases to normal limits, Amber notices her shirt sticking to her chest and back. She swipes her forehead and feels a layer of sweat that is covering her entire body. Amber groans at this disgusting fluid before checking her phone to find that she only slept for three hours. After her back-to-back shifts yesterday, she tried to fall asleep but found it difficult to keep her eyes closed. Instead, she spent two hours tossing and turning until she finally felt tired.

Now she is fully awake again in the middle of the night because of another nightmare. For the past few weeks she has been plagued with dreams of being in the covid ward and losing a patient. This, however, was the first time her patients were her loved ones and it’s what made her decide that sleep will only make things worse, and she needs to keep busy, so her boyfriend doesn’t get concerned once again and watch her like she’s going to break like glass.

Ever since Andrew was discharged and she moved back into his apartment, Amber has tried her best to take care of him while he’s recovering. She helps him with wound care, PT, cook’s meals for him and makes sure he remembers to take his medication. All of this was relatively easy except for when she sleeps in the same bed as him.

The nightmares started the night she came home, and it’s gotten worse since. She has thrown herself into work and Andrew’s post op care to appear stable and active. However, he was quick to figure this out two weeks ago when a dream of her brother attacking her during his psychotic episode made her wake up screaming and he held her in his arms while she cried.

Every night since he begs her to go to sleep with the help of melatonin. Amber tries to lay by his side and sleep peacefully but the most she gets is four hours before a nightmare wakes her up in a pit of sweat and anxiety. Even when Andrew is lying down and holding her Amber does math in her head to stay awake until his breaths evened out and she could sit up without waking him.

Amber sighs at this lack of sleep but knows she’s not gonna go back down so she opts to go for a run before heading into work. She finds running in the park to be relaxing as it’s the one place besides home she can breathe without a mask. Amber grabs her workout clothes from the drawers and quickly changes inside the bathroom before exiting to put on her shoes.

The sound of the bathroom door closing wakes up Andrew in bed. He groans tiredly before sitting up waking up his dog Jazz as well who slept in bed with them again. Amber is in her workout clothes putting her hair up in a ponytail before sitting on the couch to put her running shoes on.

“Good morning.”

Amber responds numbly without looking up, “Morning, sorry to wake you I wanted to go out for a run before work.”

Andrew turns on his phone at his bedside table, “It’s 3:30 in the morning your shift doesn’t start for another 4 hours.”

“So?” Amber asks snappishly, “The hospital is too overrun, they need all the help they can get so I’m going in early.”

Andrew sighs at this rubbing his eyes, “You finished a double shift 6 hours ago, Did you have another nightmare?”

“God not this again.” Amber remarks annoyed, “Yes I slept, I had a great dream last night where my boyfriend wasn’t nagging me about my sleeping schedule any other questions or do you want to attach me to a lie detector test too?”

DeLuca sighs at this insult but keeps calm, “Amber I am not the bad guy here I am just trying to help that’s all. I know you’ve been through a lot and you work to numb the pain and I get that. I get it but there’s a limit to how many hours you pull before exhaustion gets to you even in the middle of a pandemic.”

Amber scoffs dismissively, “You know why don’t you tell that to the thousands of people that are dying in our hospital each day? Tell them a resident can’t work to save lives because she would rather lay back in bed and keep her boyfriend company, I’m sure they would understand.”

Andrew’s face falls at that but Amber is unmoved walking to the door, “I’ll see you at work.” The door slams closed with that statement causing Andrew to groan and collapse on the bed in frustration.

Four Hours Later

“MVC and abdominal pain coming in 2 minutes out.” Jackson announces at the ambulance bay where Amber is already gowned up and waiting, “I can page Parker if you want to nod off and drink this very expensive coffee I got you.”

Avery is carrying a cup of coffee that he hands out to Amber who rolls her eyes. She knows that her best friend is taking shifts when she does because he’s looking after her. Amber is annoyed at this overprotectiveness that has increased after Amber came back to work following Andrew’s attack. She finds people babysitting her to be insulting and degrading but takes the coffee as the caffeine calls to her.

“You’re lucky I like caffeine.” She sips the coffee that makes her gag, “What is that?”

“Vanilla brown sugar latte, it’s my favorite, it’s sweet.”

“It’s disgusting.” Amber throws the coffee away hurting Jackson, “How do you have a six-pack drinking that swill? And I don’t need to sleep I’m great so you can back off and go back to your pretty little plastics floor where nothing bad ever happens.”

“Wow and here I was hoping a good latte would make you less cranky.” Jackson teases before noticing his friend closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again and shaking her tired head causing him to worry, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I know what you’re doing.” Jackson raises an eyebrow confused, “You’re mothering me or babying me and it’s pissing me off.”

Jackson is startled by this outburst, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a world class surgeon and you’re coincidentally working at the pit when I am, not to mention the covid ward, the check in desk, the testing tent, this is stalking.”

“Amber despite what your ego is telling you my entire world does not revolve around you.” Jackson states sternly, “Every world class surgeon in this building is going where they’re needed because specialties and surgeries are on pause. It’s not stalking it’s having our wires crossed, now are you gonna accuse me of boiling your bunny or are we gonna save lives?”

Amber turns to the ambulance coming in and rushes over with Jackson where the paramedics open the back door. There is a heavy-set black man on the gurney groaning in pain.

“What do we got?” Jackson asks the paramedic who explains.

“Paul Wilkins, 45-year-old male with new onset right side abdominal pain.” Amber helps Jackson wheel him inside the building, “No meds, no past medical history, allergic to Zofran.”

“Okay you got this Karev?” Jackson asks Amber.

“I’ll run tests and give him Phenergan for the nausea.”

Jackson pulls back, “Okay I’ll take the MVC page me if you-”

“I’m fine Dr. Avery.” Amber proclaims causing him to leave her with the patient and paramedic “Paul your our first patient today so you get the luxury package, bed 1.”

She and the paramedic lift the groaning patient on the bed before Vic Hughes and Travis Montgomery come in uniform wheeling a black woman who is on a gurney. Amber groans but approaches the firefighters ready to take in the new patient.

“What do we got?”

“Irene Davis, 35, complains of severe abdominal pain.” Vic outlines, “She has a history of MS and an Rx for steroids.”

“Any numbness or tremors on scene?”

“No, she didn’t show symptoms beyond the abdomen.” Travis answers, “Although she was complaining the whole ride over and insisted on not going to a hospital.”

“Because that worked out so well for my sister.” Irene bitterly states, “Came in for a hysterectomy and went out with terminal cancer.”

“I’m so sorry Irene but we need to check you out and make sure there’s nothing serious.” Amber points to a room, “Get her to trauma 1 and I’ll page general for a consult, is there anyone we can call for you? Family or friends?”

Irene chuckles, “That won’t be necessary, my brother-in-law works here, and he’ll come marching in when he gets whiff that I’m here.”

“That’s good.”

“You say that, but you’ve never met my brother.”

Amber chuckles lightly, “I have two brothers, so I share the feeling trust me. Okay get her inside and a doctor will be with you shortly.” The firefighters take Irene to trauma 1 leaving Amber to go to the station to page Jo. She is about to return to her patients when a familiar song stops her in place.

Avril Lavigne’s Complicated plays from the nurse’s phone while she is charting. Amber’s feet stop moving, they feel like cinderblocks stopping her in place with an unblinking catatonic face. When this song is recognized by Amber the next sound she hears is ringing in her ears and her surroundings are incoherent to her as her mind takes her to the moment she first listened to this song.

2002

A nine-year-old Amber Karev is sitting at the table of her house working on her homework. While she is writing her English paper, her CD player is attached to her headphones that she is wearing. The music blaring in her ears is Complicated by Avril Lavigne.

She is peacefully doing her schoolwork while her brother Alex is at college and her other brother Aaron is hanging out with his friends. A loud clank startles her causing her to remove her headphones and put them around the back of her neck.

“Why are you here?!” Amber can discern is as Helen having another episode making the young girl’s fear skyrocket, “Get out! Get out or I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”

The little girl quickly grabs the home phone before going inside a closet out of view from her frantic mother who keeps tearing the house apart. She crouches in a dark corner in the back of the small space before dialing Aaron’s number.

While she does this Helen grabs the pans and throws them around screaming nonsense just five feet from Amber who hopes her schizophrenic mother doesn’t open the door and try to kill her again. The phone against her ear is answered with her teenage brother on the other end.

“Hey kid what’s up?” Amber is too afraid to make a sound and give herself away so she holds the phone out to the door that is a weak barrier for their mothers frantic actions.

Helen is throwing cups out of the shelves, “Come out here now! Come out here so I can kill you!”

Amber holds the phone to her ear as her brother responds calmly but with a veil of panic, “All right I’m leaving right now, just stay in there, don’t open the door, and don’t make a sound. I’ll be there as soon as I can I promise.”

Her brother hangs up leaving Amber all alone in the closet where she follows his instructions and keeps quiet like her life depends on it. Even through the screaming and glass breaking the little Karev keeps herself curled up inside the closet while her life is in danger from the person who is supposed to protect it.

Present

“Amber.”

The resident snaps out of her flashback at the call of her name and turns to find it coming from Jackson who is tending to Paul Wilkins instead of her. He doesn’t look bothered however he looks worried for Amber. For a solid minute he saw her standing by the station frozen looking on like a statue. He called her out twice until she finally responded to his relief but his concern for her escalates after this catatonic episode.

Amber approaches them normal trying to ignore her flashback, “Did general come by?”

“Not yet. Trauma took my MVC to the OR so I’m stepping in.” Jackson answers before doing a physical test on the abdomen causing the patient to groan in pain, “I know it hurts but I’m almost done. We’re gonna do a CBC and kidney panel to see what the source is, it’s most likely anemia which is very treatable don’t worry. Karev, can you do the workup while I get a CT for bed 5? And make him more comfortable while the labs are running?”

“I got it thanks.” Jackson leaves her with a nurse. She quickly does the blood draw and helps him to the restroom where he pees in a cup for her. Amber hands the bag to an intern to hand to the labs. She yawns as her exhaustion starts to creep up on her but she persists and turns to the nurse while Paul is too busy curled up in bed holding his stomach that makes him groan in pain.

“Okay Taylor let’s give Mr. Wilkins something for the nausea while his blood work is being done.” She briefly closes her eyes while giving orders, “Give him 4 mg of Zofran and I’ll be back once the results are in. Page me if anything changes thanks.”

Amber walks away groaning tiredly as she heads to the trauma room to check on Irene. She is inside the hall when a realization stops her in place. Amber remembers the paramedic telling them that Mr. Wilkins is allergic to Zofran…the same medicine that she just prescribed for his nausea. Amber gasps at this before running out and bursting the doors open back to the pit. The PPE she is wearing doesn’t stop her from running at full speed back to bed 1 where the nurse is about to insert something into Paul Wilkins IV.

“Stop!” Taylor stops in place looking up at the panicking resident, “Taylor are you giving Mr. Wilkins-”

“Phenergan?” Amber turns to Jackson who stands six feet behind her looking at the nurse and patient calmly, “I told nurse Taylor we were out of Zofran and to use Phenergan instead. That’s what you were gonna say right? Before I came over.”

Amber pauses at that explanation before looking at Paul who is responding to the medication. She knows Jackson was with her when the paramedics told them about Paul’s allergy and as a result saved her from making a mistake that could have killed the patient. Amber swallows the lump in her throat before nodding and following his lead.

“Right, I was gonna say that.”

“…Right.” Jackson says coldly with a stern face that Amber discerns as disappointment. It makes her guilt grow and sees she’s not gonna get away Scot free from her friend. Amber leaves for her previous destination. Jackson sighs as he watches her walk away with his disappointment shifting to worry.

Later

Jackson is outside the ambulance bay leaning back against the building with his mask off breathing in the air he and everyone else has taken for granted. Normally it would be a hard day working in a pandemic that would warrant his brooding but now it’s added by his friends declining mental state.

Ever since Amber came back to work after Andrew’s attack, Jackson noticed that she was snapping at coworkers more, working at the covid ward beyond the limits for residents, easily startled by random events and dragging her feet at work that affects her performance. He keeps his distance because he was certain she was just reacting like a doctor working during covid. But after Paul Wilkins he knows now it’s more than that, he knows now that Amber is teetering at the edge and needs to be pulled back before she falls.

“Hey.” Amber appears six feet in front of him with her mask off and a remorseful expression.

“Hey.” Jackson keeps a blank face knowing he needs to be upfront with Amber and help her when she’s not helping herself, “We need to talk.”

Amber inhales looking down in shame, “I know I figured we would after what happened with Mr. Wilkins, what I did with Mr. Wilkins that was…that was unacceptable. I was there when the paramedics told me he was allergic to Zofran, and I prescribed it anyway. I came back from a double shift last night and I haven’t gotten sleep since. I’m tired and my mind is in a fog but that is no excuse I know that.” Jackson sighs at this with a stern look that effects Amber, “Are you angry?”

“I’m not angry.” Jackson says pulling himself off the wall to stand up right in front of Amber with arms crossed at his chest, “Truly I’m not, I was but now I’m worried about you.”

“And I appreciate that, and I so appreciate what you did for me this morning. You came through huge for me and if you hadn’t…” Amber’s face darkens at that scenario running through her head, “I would never have forgiven myself.”

“I know that.” Jackson says with a frown, “Why do you think I was keeping an eye on you all day?”

“Well lucky me that you decided to baby me today.” Amber half teases that Jackson doesn’t find amusing causing her to become serious again, “Jackson, you know me, you know I’m not that kind of doctor. I swear this is the first and last time something like this happens from me.”

“It’s not.” Jackson states making Amber look confused, “It’s not the first time this has happened. The reason you don’t know this is because I have been watching you closely and cleaning up your messes.”

Amber is taken back by this new information. For so long she has prided herself on her analytical skills and her ability to double-check her work. So, to hear her boss tell her that she has unknown skeletons in her closet makes her pause for a moment before prying for elaboration.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Jackson almost wants to stop; he almost wants to spare his friend the pain of finding out how she looks to others. But he knows he can’t watch her 24/7 and next time there won’t be an attending to stop her from making a fatal error like with Mr. Wilkins.

“Ever since DeLuca was discharged you haven’t been 100 percent at work.” Amber furrows her eyebrows in confusion, “You look exhausted, you’re dragging your feet. I chalked it up to exhaustion and taking care of DeLuca at home and burn out but then you started slipping at work.”

Amber scoffs at that, “When have I ever made mistakes like today? Tell me.”

“You want the list? I correct your EMR’s, put patient notes on the right charts, order rapid tests when you doze off.”

“Okay that’s just paperwork.” Amber defends herself, “That is not malpractice that’s normal. I mean you can’t tell me you didn’t make mistakes like that when you were a resident, and you weren’t in a pandemic then. I screw up some red tape once or twice big deal.”

“It happens all the time.” Jackson informs her in a low voice, so they don’t attract attention, “And it’s been getting worse. You prescribed Zofran you forgot a patient was allergic to after you had an episode and stared off into space for a minute. It was like your brain was somewhere else, like you were caught in a flashback.” Amber pales at that reminder causing Jackson to ask cautiously, “What did you see before you prescribed Mr. Wilkins the Zofran?”

Amber shakes her head not wanting to be pulled back into that dark hole, “I’m tired that’s it; it comes with the job I’ll get over it I always do.”

“Amber…” Jackson sighs gathering the courage to make his point to his friend looking at her in sympathy, “I think you need help; more help that any of us realize and I’m sorry for not seeing that until now, but I have and I’m here to tell you…you’re not okay.”

Amber shakes her head at that suggestion immediately as her face shifts to frustration, “I already have a live-in boyfriend pointing out all of my flaws I don’t need you doing it too.”

“Amber-”

“And you know what I am a big girl Jackson I don’t need an overpaid babysitter attached to my hip.” Amber snaps at Jackson who rubs his eyes as he knew this wasn’t gonna go smoothly, “I can take care of myself I have done it my whole life. I’m not some side piece for you to control like April and Maggie, my entire life doesn’t depend on your hero complex and another thing-”

“If I didn’t give half as much crap about you and babysit you a patient would be dead right now because your too exhausted to remember important medical information.” Jackson reminds her in a low harsh tone accompanied by a furious glare that appeared when Amber insulted April. This dark progression stops Amber’s rant, and she looks at her friend silently as he continues.

“I am trying to save you before you self-sabotage yourself until you get your license taken away. You and I both saw it with Jo when she came to work drunk and again with DeLuca when he became manic. It’s happening again only this time you’re the one who is getting worse, and I can’t stand by and watch you deny what is right in front of you and kill patients as a result. You would do the same for me and don’t even try to deny it.”

Amber is frozen by this for a moment before Jackson rubs his jaw and his fury shifts to concern and empathy, “I’m being your friend right now, I am helping you because you need it. You helped me when my mom was sick and when I was going through a question in faith and the universe. You were my ear and my shoulder to lean on so I am telling you I will return the favor. This pain you’re feeling you can’t keep it bottled up forever because eventually it’s gonna blow up and you won’t come back from it. I just…I just want you to tell me what you’re feeling so I can help you, please talk to me.”

Amber looks taken back by this heartwarming confession. Her best friend had been there for her time and time again whether it’s relationship or professional problems. Even when she was mad at him for leaving unexpectedly, she knew he would be in her corner. And she knows he wants to hear her honest response to his offer.

Amber inhales deeply taking a moment to gather her thoughts, “I feel…I feel off.”

Jackson looks at her in sympathy over this morose statement as she continues, “One minute I feel like there’s no hope left, no love, no happiness just…nothing. And then the next minute I feel like screaming at the world and never stopping. Even when my boyfriend makes me a gourmet dinner it’s like ash in my mouth. I get mad at him for every little thing, it’s like I live on anger because there’s no hope left. It-It’s like I hate everything and everyone until I hit a wall, and I don’t feel hate or anything at all. I can’t sleep at night because I always have nightmares that feel so real I am afraid I’ll never wake up. It feels like…it feels like all of the worst feelings of everyone in the world has somehow entered my body and I can’t get it out.”

Jackson sighs at this feeling sad for his friend who has so much more turmoil than he even realized. It’s taking everything in him not to break protocol and hug her. She looks broken and small like a lost child and for the first time he can see her walls breaking down and her true feelings coming out.

Amber inhales to regain her composure and barriers, “But I’ll get over it and deal with it my own way that includes working.”

Jackson frowns at this while Amber puts her mask on, “I gotta get back in there, excuse me.”

Amber goes back inside without objection from her friend who looks grim at this confession. He knew she was in rough shape but not to this extent. He wants to help but he doesn’t know how to help with this. Instead, he stands there feeling just as hopeless as Amber just told him she feels.

Next Chapter Here

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