#what if he can’t love me when I am not numbed out on the meds? what if he can’t accept me as I am without the chemical help?

[littlebittywildflower]

Why does vulnerability have to be so hard?

[starsstuddedsky]

Needles and Knives

red hood!jeno x doctor!reader

...

“Don’t you dare die,” you say, gripping the scalpel.

“Already did that,” Jeno mutters, eyes fluttering. “Didn’t agree with me.”

...

summary: Jeno’s plans never included you yet somehow you worm your way into his life. Being a vigilante isn’t easy - but neither is loving one.

genre: angst except i can’t stop them from making jokes so like fun angst. little bits of fluff here and there

warnings: gore, mentions of death, violence, cursing

wc: 16k

a/n: dc fans i am so sorry. my knowledge of these characters comes from wikipedia. medical workers i am so sorry. the medicine in this is NOT accurate. if ur neither maybe you can fully enjoy this fic. i hope you do :) this is as proofread as its going to get..... as always i appreciate any sort of feedback you can give. i hope this story leaves you as delusional about jeno as i am <3

Not for the first time, you open the door to your apartment to find a man covered in blood on your couch. At least he managed to keep it off the floors this time. 

You can just see the back of his head from the doorway, black hair sticking up from where he slouches on the couch. The head seems to be intact, which is a bit of a relief—being a surgical intern means you’ve become numb to gore, but not fully immune to the nastiness of patching up a tear in his scalp. 

“Still alive?” You ask as you kick off your shoes. Your feet ache from standing for the past eight hours. 

Jeno huffs a humorless laugh. “More or less.” He twists to look at you, holding up a very sad looking plant. “Which is more than I can say for this poor thing.” 

You drop your bag behind the couch and cross to stand in front of him, his head swiveling to follow you. He sets the dead succulents down on the side table. The tuft of white that hangs over his forehead bounces with the movement, stark against the rest of his black hair. 

 His shirt is already off, discarded to the side. At work, you’ve become just as numb to bodies as you have to gore. You haven’t quite managed that with Jeno despite seeing him shirtless on the regular since he seems to find himself covered in blood on your couch at least once a week. Still, you can’t really be blamed for being a little flustered when he looks like… Well, that. He’s got more abs than ribs and broad shoulders that give way to thick arms of pure muscle. But you can never truly ogle because he inevitably is covered in too much blood for you to ignore. 

“I think I just popped the stitches,” he says, referring to the wound on his stomach that is once again bleeding. “No new shit. I think.” 

“I don’t think that’s actually any better,” you say. “You know we usually tell patients to refrain from strenuous activity after they’ve been stitched up.” You retrieve the medical bag you definitely don’t keep stocked from the supply closet at Gotham City Hospital. 

“They usually get pain meds, too,” Jeno grumbles, even though he’s never once complained about the actual pain of being stitched back together. 

You kneel in front of him, focusing on what was once a deep gash. He showed up with it a couple days ago, spewing more blood than he physically should be able to produce. It’s already half healed, though the new stitches will still help. 

“They usually aren’t getting blood on my couch either,” you say. “We can do this all day.” 

Jeno doesn’t answer, staying quiet long enough for you to peek at him and make sure he hasn’t passed out from some injury you don’t know about. Instead you find his dark eyes, filled with an intensity that wasn’t there when you were children. You still find it hard to believe the kid that walked with you to school every day for three years has grown up into this—all hard lines and guarded expressions. Every time you look into those eyes you are reminded how little you know about him. 

Here’s what you do know: Jeno and his family disappeared when you were twelve. Vanished in the middle of the school year, leaving the house next to yours half full of their belongings in the flight. And then you didn’t see him for another twelve years, long enough for you to graduate high school, and then college, and then med school. Long enough for you to get a prestigious internship in the surgical program at Gotham City Hospital, which had you moving three states over into an apartment you had to rent without even doing a walkthrough. It’s this apartment—the one that he sits in now—that brought Jeno back to you. Again, he’s become the boy next door, though you still can’t reconcile your memories of the little boy with this man, who never smiles. You barely recognized him. But he recognized you, and even though he didn’t seem all that interested in having friends, he found out you were a med student and just happened to need stitches. And then he needed help with a broken wrist. And then a black eye. And then, and then. 

It didn’t take you long to figure out he’s Red Hood, one of the newer vigilantes of Gotham City. Or, more accurately, it didn’t take you long to figure out he’s a vigilante. It did take a while to figure out Red Hood, but his eyes eventually gave it away. One look told you he’s cold on the inside. One look told you he’s a killer. 

(Plus you’ve seen the now-iconic leather jacket hanging in his entryway.) 

But though you can’t call his eyes warm now, they aren’t cold either. He regards you with a softness you’ve never seen before, or maybe just never noticed. You duck your head and turn back to the stitches. 

“If you pull these again, you’ll be sewing them up yourself,” you mutter. 

“Well, how else am I supposed to see you?” Jeno asks. “You only ever make time for me when I’m bleeding.” Despite his earlier complaints, he doesn’t flinch as you begin the sutures. In fact, he doesn’t show any sign that he’s even noticed. 

You roll your eyes. “That's because I took an oath. Something about saving lives, and something about ‘no matter how much I want to take a hot shower and pass out for the next twelve hours, I’m legally obligated to keep my weird neighbor alive when he shows up begging for help.’” 

“Who said anything about begging?” 

You pause, needle in hand. “I can leave you like this, you know. You can finish it yourself if you really want to.” And you know he can. You’ve seen the scars. So many scars, which tell the story he hasn’t told you: the oldest on his forearm, perfectly straight, the result of a real surgery; the thick ones on his back that look like they were never stitched up; the cut on his arm that looks like it tore through muscle yet was carefully stitched up; the scar on the back of his neck that looks like it should have broken his neck; and the angry red scar on his left knee that he said he stitched up himself a couple months before you moved in next door. 

You open your mouth to tell him he’s really on his own now, but Jeno says, “I guess I can beg.” 

You pause, then say. “That’s just terrible.” You have to look away so you continue the stitches. “You can do way better than that.” 

“Oh, YN, great saver of lives,” Jeno says, “please do me the great honor of stitching me up. Again.” 

You hum. “Better but still room for improvement.” 

“I would die without you. I would get on my knees if I could. Please, please, do not stop stitching me up.” 

You grin at him and almost get a smile back, his eyes truly warm. You take it as a win—or at least a vast improvement from how he was two months ago. You finish the stitches, sitting up straight. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll sit still long enough to let these actually heal, will you?” Not that you know how long that is. You noticed a while back that most of his injuries heal far faster than they should. He shouldn’t need to come to you for minor injuries yet he does, over and over again. It doesn’t make any sense, but as long as he keeps showing up on your couch, you’ll keep taking care of him. 

Jeno looks at you like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should. Maybe this is it. He’ll finally tell you exactly how he gets his scars. How he became the Red Hood. 

Instead, he says, “Nah, probably not.” 

You sit back on the couch beside him, sighing. “I watched a seven hour surgery today, and you know what I learned?” 

“Hm?” He turns, cheek resting on the couch. For a moment you see the boy again, cast in gold from the afternoon sunlight. You can just picture his smile, the way his whole face melts into a gooey happiness. You blink and he’s gone. 

“Surgeons are dicks,” you blurt out, forgetting what you were going to say. “They never want to believe patients, and I get it, sometimes they’re annoying and think they know best, but this girl came in three months ago complaining about pain and Dr. Park called her a junkie. She came back in today and collapsed in the waiting room because he never actually examined her. 

“She was having a heart attack, and if he just listened the first time, it might have been salvageable, but the second one ripped her heart to shreds. Dr. Nakamoto said he’d never seen someone survive a heart that looked like that.” 

“But she did survive?” Jeno asks. 

“Yeah,” you say. “For now. She needs a heart transplant, though, so it’s a waiting game.” 

He nods. 

“I don’t get why Dr. Park or any of the other doctors couldn’t run a simple EKG. It’s not difficult and it would have saved her life but they took one look at her and assumed she was a junkie,” you say, “and I can’t even complain about it because Dr. Lee will just say some shit like ‘medical decisions are more difficult than you think’ because that’s easier than actually checking if his surgical team gives a shit about their patients beyond death rates.” 

You sigh. “The worst part is, they aren’t even bad doctors. They know the medicine, and the procedures they can do—it’s really incredible. I don’t know, sometimes I worry you can only be good at medicine or good with patients, and it’s impossible to be both.” 

“You really think that?” 

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I’m just tired.” 

Jeno nods, letting silence settle between you. It’s far too comfortable to just sit with him like this, a peaceful solidarity you’ve only ever felt with him. You won’t give it meaning, won’t think about it any more than another afternoon on the couch together. That’s all this is. 

“I should take a shower,” you say. 

“I should get back to my place,” Jeno says. Neither of you move. 

.

.

Lee Jeno doesn’t consider himself to be consumed with rage, despite what the headlines say. Yeah, the mask is intense, but he doesn’t use it to incite fear among all those who look upon his face. He just needed to keep his face hidden from Bruce (and, as much as it pains him to admit Bruce might be right about anything, he can’t deny that keeping his identity hidden is ultimately the right move). 

He tosses the magazine on his desk. He’s got to stop reading the tabloids. They’re rotting his brain. But somehow they’re the only reliable source on the current crop of Joker’s little worshippers. Jeno still can’t believe it took him six months to realize the ads were calling for new recruits to the cult. 

He feels the pit of anger, deep in his stomach, writhing at the thought of that man. Revenge would be too kind. Jeno will take him down, no matter what. 

Maybe he’s a little consumed with rage. 

But he can’t ignore the recent distractions. He’s spent the past week sitting behind the computer doing whatever investigative work he can, any excuse to avoid pulling the stitches again. You really didn’t seem like you were joking about making him do it next time, and it was a bitch to stitch up his knee on his own. The angle alone would make his ribs pretty much impossible. 

Jeno sighs, tapping on his keyboard to bring the computer to life. Three monitors light up, the far left screen featuring the feeds of all the security cameras that show the apartment building that he very legally tapped into. The far right screen shows three different news feeds, local to Gotham, national news, and an international broadcast, volume off, subtitles on. The middle screen remains blank, ready for him to pull up whatever information he needs. 

Hunt Joker. Get revenge. 

It was simple when he first got his memories back. Those were his only goals. But then he had to train, become a better fighter, establish some sort of half-life in the city–which meant figuring out how to pay rent, which meant figuring out which billionaires he could reasonably steal from without them noticing. He admits it’s foolish to have Wayne Enterprises on the top of the list, but the bastard owes him. 

Six months passed by before he finally set this place and a couple other safe houses up. And then another six passed, and Jeno is still no closer to revenge. He is supposed to be better than before, but all he’s done is steal some lunch money from people too rich to notice and take down a couple men who liked to pick on the weak. He hates that he did more in tights than he’s done becoming Red Hood. 

He let his life become too simple. Day after day of hunting criminals and keeping them from hurting anyone ever again. It was freeing, no debriefings with idiots that would tell him that he should have acted differently—should have acted with more mercy. He makes his own decisions and no one is there to judge him. It’s proof he never needed anyone, even if hunting Joker is taking a little longer than it would if he had Wayne Enterprise resources. 

And then you showed up. 

He leans back in the chair, the joint squeaking. Jeno still doesn’t know what to make of you popping back into his life. He hasn’t been the kid you knew for so long he almost forgot about him. That kid died the day his parents yanked him out of school and moved to Gotham city. His parents worked back breaking shifts in one of the factories, while Jeno lasted a month in school before he realized he could stop going and no one would care. He learned how to survive Gotham quickly, and pretty soon he thrived. He barely even noticed when his parents died. 

You bring back memories of suburbs and eating ice cream before it could melt onto his hand. He remembers this one time you were walking back home after school and you tripped and skinned your knee. There was so much blood, Jeno freaked out and thought he’d have to carry you (which he definitely couldn’t do back then), but you just stood up and gritted your teeth and walked all the way back. It didn’t surprise him at all to find out you’re a doctor now, not when you were always so hardcore. 

It came in handy pretty quick, too, though he’ll at least admit to himself that his powers probably won’t let him die. It just turned into a routine for him, a nice way to end his day (though his work “day” generally ends at dawn). 

But nice is for a boy that doesn’t exist, not for the justice he seeks. He can’t keep pretending to be someone he isn’t, and someone as smart as you can’t keep pretending to believe his lies. He focuses on the security feed, watching a dark sedan roll past. 

He can keep avoiding you. It would be easy to clear out of here, especially when you spend most of your time at the hospital anyways. He could do it now—you’re in the middle of one of those endless shifts where you sleep in the hospital. You complain so much about being exhausted that he doubts you’d notice that he left, at least for a month. You’re not friends with him, Jeno doesn’t have friends. You just took an oath to save lives, and he forced you to save him. You wouldn’t even miss him. 

But even as he contemplates it, he knows he can’t do it to you again. Even if all you are is the person that patches him up every other night, you deserve some explanation. A goodbye. 

Rain begins to fall, slow at first, then a steady patter, the gentle wind strong enough to send the rain against the window. 

He hears the truck engine rattling down the street before it finally comes into view on the top left camera. Strange, the bottom right camera covers the opposite side of the street but shows nothing. He keeps an eye on the truck, which rattles by, frowning at the bottom right screen. 

Not just an empty street. Though the sky is dark in the background, the pavement and sidewalk are still dry. Jeno curses, getting to his feet and grabbing his belt. He loads the pistols, clipping on the extra ammo to his belt alongside the gadgets while keeping an eye on the other cameras, trying to see if he missed anything else. Two more screens play on a loop, the transition more obvious with the rain. He pulls on the mask, grateful he made it waterproof. His jacket is last, riddled with holes he never had the time to sew back together. He keeps his knife in his right hand, checking the cameras a final time—all showing empty loops—before ducking out the window onto the fire escape. 

The jacket is thick enough to keep the rain from actually soaking him, but the cold seeps through. It brings an ache to his bones, an empty feeling like his body doesn’t quite belong to him. He presses a hand to his heart, the pressure bringing a new ache that reminds his body his heart still beats. 

He jumps the rest of the way down from the fire escape, landing in a puddle of water that splashes beneath his boots, sending water up to his knees. He needs eyes on the situation. Ideally he’d go to the roof, but there’s too much daylight to be out in the open like that, turning him into a sitting duck. He opts for the alleyways instead, looping around the back of the building to where he can see the street without being seen. Whatever is going on, he needs to drive the action away from his place. 

He scans the road, settling on the dark sedan parked in front of the corner store. It wasn’t on the security camera feed when he left, and as he watches, two tall men with dark hoods pulled over their heads slip out of the back seat. They approach the apartment building with the confidence of residents, though Jeno can tell from here they don’t. He memorized his neighbors a long time ago, but even if he hadn’t, Jeno has seen enough gangs to know bruisers when he sees them. 

But who do they belong to? Who knows where Jeno lives? The people he’s been skimming from? He hasn’t been stealing enough to warrant this kind of a response. No, his life as Jeno couldn’t have attracted these men. 

So it’s Red Hood? Anyone that knows about Red Hood should know better than to send two goons that could be taken out this easily. Jeno switches the knife to his left hand and pulls out a pistol, turning off the safety and cocking the hammer. 

Before he can squeeze the trigger, he senses something, the rain behind him falling on something other than pavement. He drops to the ground and rolls until his back is against the wall and a dumpster protects his front. A bullet buries itself into the pavement where he had been standing a moment ago. 

He moves again, vaulting over the dumpster, catching the man holding a pistol at the end of the alley by surprise. Still in the air, Jeno squeezes the trigger, hitting the man in the stomach. He lands on his feet and crosses the alley in two quick strides to kick the man as he falls. His hood falls off as he lands on his back, revealing an assuming face. Like the other men, Jeno has never seen him before. 

Jeno kicks the gun out of his hand and snatches it from the pavement, slipping it into one of the extra holsters on his belt. He glances between the front of the building and the back. The two goons out front had to have heard the noise, which means he doesn’t have much time before they make it to the alley. But he’s got no idea what might be around the other corner. 

He crosses back to the dumpster, keeping an eye on the man behind him as he waits. The man at the other end groans but doesn’t call out for his buddies. Rain overflows from the gutters, falling in spurts rather than droplets. Thirty seconds pass and Jeno only hears the rain. Are they waiting for him? Circling around to trap him between them? 

He adjusts his grip on the knife in his left hand, holding it so that the blade is nearest to his pinky finger, his thumb wrapped around the bottom of the base. He keeps the blade facing out, stepping to the front of the apartment building. Instinct guides him to the left, giving him enough time to block the bat with his right arm, sending a shock up his shoulder. 

He steps closer, letting the man—one of the goons from before—pull the bat back for another swing. Jeno swings the knife up, catching the man’s jacket but missing blood. He drops the knife and twists, turning so that the man is behind him and ducking to catch the arm still swinging the bat and flip the man over using his momentum and the bigger man’s weight. He hits the pavement hard, sending water splashing all over Jeno.  

The second man catches up from the other end of the alley, firing wild shots that don’t come close to hitting him but force Jeno to step back. Jeno pulls a throwing star from his belt, sending it cutting through the air to knock the gun out of the man’s hand. With his right hand, he takes a shot at the man struggling to get off the ground, catching him in the back. He falls again and this time he doesn’t move. 

The second man charges out of the alley, the throwing star gone from his hand, though it still drips blood. He has a crowbar in his other hand, like these guys want to be stereotypical goons. He moves about as well as the other man, all power and zero agility. Jeno dodges him easily, letting him take a couple swings before he shoots him in the head. The man drops a couple steps away from his buddy. 

Jeno glances around but the dark sedan has left. No one else ventures out to investigate—probably because Jeno still holds a gun. He retrieves his knife and the throwing star, going back to the first man that he shot who still groans at the end of the alley. Blood mixes with the iridescent swirls of run off, red overtaking the blended greens and purples. 

He kneels on his chest. Rain falls on the back of his mask“Who sent you?” 

The man gurgles a laugh. “What’s it to you?” 

Jeno pushes his knee a little harder. “I asked you a question.” 

“Fuck you,” the man says. He tries to spit but the mix of blood and saliva ends up splattering on his own face. The man suddenly turns, moving with more strength than Jeno expected. At the same time that Jeno points his gun at the man’s head, the man pulls a gun from inside his coat, pressing it straight into Jeno’s stomach. Neither of them hesitate to pull the trigger. 

.

.

Caution tape is up in the alley next to your apartment, but the rain seems to have washed away any sign of the crimes committed. It pounds into your head relentlessly, soaking you through your coat. 

Though you’ve been living here less than a year, Gotham’s reputation has held true. Working in the hospital has given you even more experience with the diversity of types of people the city attracts—good, bad, and everything in between. You even worked on a guy who apparently turned out to be a Batman villain a few months ago. 

Between working at the hospital and living in the city in general, you’ve gotten used to dissociating crime scenes with the sense that you’re actually in danger. Besides, you live next door to a vigilante. Who are you to say this is even a crime scene?

You don’t think anything of it until you open your apartment door and catch the unfortunately familiar scent of blood. Wind and rain crash through the open window, pulling your stumbling feet forward to find the source of the blood. 

Jeno didn’t make it to the couch this time. He lies just inside the windowsill, barely sitting up with his back against the wall. One hand clutches his stomach, red blood spilling over the black shirt. His head hangs low, hair soaked by that rain that still falls on him through the open window. The red mask sits in his other hand.

For a scary moment, he doesn’t move. 

You drop your bag, rushing to him. You can’t stop your voice from shaking. “Jeno?” 

He groans when you shake his arm. “Ow.” 

You curse as you slam the window shut and lay him out on his side, keeping his hand over the wound until you can get a better gauge on what it is. “What the hell did you do to yourself?” 

He doesn’t answer, only groaning as you try to reach your medical bag while keeping pressure on the wound. You finally get it to the ground, pulling out the scissors and slicing through the shirt so that you can see the wound—a gaping hole framed by bullet fragments  where his stomach should be. 

“Fuck.” He needs a hospital, a surgeon that’s done more than assist on an appendectomy, but you can’t bring yourself to dial 911. It would bring too many questions on Jeno, who has clearly avoided hospitals for a reason. And he came to you. He trusts you, even if you don’t trust yourself. You have to save him, if only because you’re the only option. 

 You set out the equipment, spraying them with alcohol to sterilize them and get ready to cut. 

“Don’t you dare die,” you say, gripping the scalpel. 

“Already did that,” Jeno mutters, eyes fluttering. “Didn’t agree with me.” 

You gape at him but he seems to have slipped back into unconsciousness. You force yourself to look back at the bullet hole. You can only yell at him if he’s alive, so you push away the thoughts and get to work, replacing any insecurity with arrogant belief that you know what you’re doing.

.

.

Death is nothing like falling asleep. For one thing, it fucking hurts. Jeno supposes the method might have played a factor. He used to think getting shot point blank might be better than being beaten for hours and then blown up (he now has the experience to decidedly answer that question: marginally better). But death itself. It hurts. 

And resurrection? All the pain of death with none of the peaceful end. Jeno remembers crawling out of the ground, forcing his muscles to work even though his body still suffered from the wounds that killed him. 

But it was the pain that forced him to keep moving, the pain that still fuels him now, a never ending ache deep inside that no time will heal. 

Joker may have held the bat, but Batman didn’t stop him. He never stopped him. Jeno remembers the look on his face, the shadowed glimpse of it that he could see. He remembers dying, hearing the Joker cackle, and Batman calling out to him—calling him Robin. 

He remembers the pain. Pain he can live with. Pain makes him who he is. He can’t let go of the pain, not when it is all that he is. 

But the pain ebbs away when you’re around. And for the life of him he can’t convince himself that it’s a bad thing.  

.

.

You manage to get Jeno into your bed after you finish patching him up—which was six grueling hours of pulling bullet fragments from the hole and praying he didn’t bleed out. No one should have been able to survive the amount of blood that seeped out of him but by some miracle (though maybe it’s a curse), his heart keeps pumping. 

He woke up just long enough to let you sling an arm under his shoulders and half carry him into the bed. You spent the entire time praying he wouldn’t pull apart the stitches and bleed out for real, but it seems like luck was finally on your side. 

You should get up. You should clean up the blood, or at least wash it from your hands. You can only find the energy to drag your armchair next to the bed and sit beside him. His chest rises and falls with even breaths. 

Still alive, for now. 

He mumbles again, voice too low to make out any words. His eyes flutter but remain closed. Does a man like him dream? 

“What happened to you?” Your voice cracks. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t show any sign that he can hear you. “You disappear for weeks at a time. You rarely show up when you aren’t bleeding. But you never talk about it, and you don’t smile anymore. I don’t think I know you anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.” 

You managed to hold back your tears, push all the emotions away to keep him alive but they come flooding back now. Tears spill over as you watch him breathe. 

“Your heart keeps beating but are you really alive?” You ask. 

He doesn’t answer. 

.

.

You moved to Gotham in August. The heat was so bad that crime rates were down–making it miserable to carry box after box up two flights of stairs since the building didn't have an elevator. You’d only been here twice before, both times on school trips, never on your own. 

But your friends all live back in your college town, and your parents were busy dealing with a lawsuit against your neighbor for the mailbox war, so you were stuck moving on your own—which wasn’t all that terrible since the apartment came half furnished. Still, you had to figure out a way to get a mattress up the stairs, along with a car full of clothes and all the rest of your belongings. Between the heat and the prospect of stairs, you weren’t exactly stoked about living in the city. 

Two trips had you wheezing for air, leaning outside your door to catch your breath. The door to the apartment next to yours swung open. You hoped someone wasn’t already complaining about the noise you were making. Instead a tall, broad shouldered man stepped out, wearing a simple black t-shirt and cargo pants. 

He turned around, revealing cold eyes and a face that looked like it spent most of its time frowning. But behind it all something familiar called to you, buried deep behind the bitter front. You remembered a boy who cried because he stubbed his toes, a boy who would fight you to make a wish on every dandelion that lined the sidewalk on the walk home. 

He froze, a tiny frown in his brow. “YN?” 

“Jeno?” 

You set down the tote, stepping around it to get a better look at him. Your eyes jumped between his, trying to decipher the hardness behind them. Though it had been over ten years, you still thought of the sweet boy who lived next door often, always wondering what happened to him. 

It seemed that the years had not been kind to him. Though he grew taller and filled out considerably, he had an emptiness behind his eyes, the kind that comes from too much hurt. He looked like it had been years since he last smiled. He barely seemed to react to you, guarding every expression as if you could be some sort of threat. 

“You’re taller,” you finally said. 

“It has been a while,” he said. 

“I think ten years qualifies as more than a while,” you said. 

He just nodded. “You’ve moved here?” 

“Just today,” you said, gesturing to the boxes. 

“You’re on your own?” 

You shrugged. “My parents are bringing a load later in the week, so it’s really not that much stuff.” You paused but Jeno didn’t run away, so you figured it was safe to ask, “How long have you been living here?” 

“In Gotham since I left.” He pauses, eyes flicking between yours. For a moment you think he’ll tell you everything. Then he says, “Here specifically, only about six months.” 

You should have asked. Maybe it would have made things simpler, maybe you wouldn’t be dancing between fantasy and reality, balancing a tedious act of ignorance. 

Instead you asked him if he’d help you move your mattress and what the pizza delivery situation was like. 

.

.

Jeno wakes up sometime in the middle of the night. You snap awake from your dozing as he shifts. 

“Sit still,” you say. “I don’t think I can put you back together if you fall apart this time.” 

Jeno blinks. Even in the darkness you can see eyes are still glazed over in confusion. 

“You were shot,” you explain. “Point blank from the looks of it.” 

“Ah,” he says. His soft voice carries in the quiet hours of the night. “That’s what hurts.” 

“Never make me do that again.” Your voice shakes despite your best attempts to steady it. The tears from earlier try to weasel their way back out of your eyes. “You should have died.” 

He reaches out, except he really must be feeling weak because his hand barely makes it to the edge of the bed before it hangs limp. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t want to get shot.” 

You blink back the tears as anger courses its way through you. “I don’t think anybody gets shot on purpose,” you snap. 

He tries to snort but it ends up sounding like a short exhale through his nose. “Fair enough.” 

“I’m not a good enough doctor for all of this,” you say. “This isn’t a hospital. I don’t have sterile equipment, or a blood bank, or an extra set of hands, I mean, if anything worse happens, you could be in real danger and there’s nothing I could do about it, and I can’t—” You pause, taking a deep breath. “I don’t like when I have to admit I can’t do something, but with you, it feels like that’s all I can do.” 

“You saved my life,” he says. “It doesn’t really feel like you couldn’t do it.” 

“It was a pretty fucking close call,” you say. “Gunshot wounds aren’t particularly easy, and you had to go and get shot in the stomach.” 

He shifts, hand running over his torso beneath the blanket. “I didn't pop the stitches, though,” he says. “I gotta get some points for that.” 

You glare at him, though he probably can’t see it in the darkness. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m trying to be serious.” 

“So am I,” he says, “it was not easy. I sat still for two full days. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve done that?” 

Ask. Get a real answer from him. Stop shying away from who he really is. You have to talk about it. 

“Well, get used to it,” you say. “You’re staying in this bed. I don’t care if I have to tie you down.” 

Jeno actually smiles. It’s been far too long since you’ve seen that smile, softening the hard lines and curling his face into something sweet. “I could be into that,” he jokes. 

And maybe it’s because there are blood stains on your shirt that will never come out and you haven’t slept in about thirty hours and you came far too close to losing the only person you really care about, but you laugh. “Just shut up and get some rest.” 

“You should rest too,” Jeno says. “You look terrible.” 

“Yeah, well it’s your fault,” you say. 

He pauses then says, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Well, don’t apologize.” You sniffle. “It’s harder to be mad at you.” 

He smiles again, and you can’t even pretend to be mad at him anymore. It’s too hard on your heart, which has been through far too much for any more lies. You smile back at him. 

.

.

After a day, Jeno can walk around on his own. You called out sick from work, despite his insistence that he’d be fine on his own. He had to bribe you to convince you to sleep on the couch, since you would barely let him go to the bathroom, let alone move back to his own room. He won’t complain too much, though. He forgot how nice it is to wake up to someone. 

He sways on his feet, holding a hand up to stop you from helping him. He forces even breaths, determined to make it to the couch without any help. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat for the thousandth time. 

“I told you I’m fine,” he grunts. Two more steps and he’s there. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the way his entire lower half screams at him. One more step. 

He collapses onto the couch more than anything, but he makes it. He lets himself slouch a little, head resting against the back of the couch. How many times has he sat here like this? So many hours spent waiting for you, watching the sun inch across the room. But most of the time it’s been like this—you at the opposite end, always a cushion separating him from you. 

The fake wooden floor is stained deep red, pooled around where he laid while you worked on him. He wonders what would have happened if you weren’t there. When he first came back he thought he was invincible, and his healing has saved him from a lot–but he’s never truly put it to the test. Could he have survived without you? 

His mask still sits where he pulled it off underneath the windowsill. He peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, your head turned towards it. Say something. 

You stare at the mask, clearing your throat. “I hope you didn’t pay too much for that shitty costume,” you say. “You don’t even have armor.” 

“YN,” Jeno says but you refuse to look at him. 

“Seriously, walking around dressed like a vigilante is going to get you killed.” 

“YN. You know it’s not a costume.” 

“What, you made it yourself? That’s even worse, I mean, it’s one thing to dress up like these guys but trying to be one of them, that’s just plain stupid. I can’t believe—”

Jeno shifts to the center cushion and wraps his fingers gently around your wrist, forcing you to look at him. “I am one of them.” 

He lets go of your wrist and watches you process the words, trying to figure out any other meaning. Your eyes dart between his, panicked and desperate. For whatever reason, you don’t want to admit it, and it’s been fine. But Jeno is tired of feeling like he’s lying to you. 

“I know,” you finally say, sighing and looking away again. He hates that it feels like he’s let you down. But he won’t apologize for who he is. 

“Why didn’t you ever ask about what happened after I left?” He asks. 

You’re quiet for a long moment. “I think I was afraid. It didn’t take long to realize what you were—or at least that you were wrapped up in something twisted—and then it was obvious whatever happened to you here wasn’t good, and I wasn’t sure if I should know that.” 

Jeno nods, gaze traveling to the window. He can see some scattered rooftops, mostly shorter residential buildings of the area. Farther in the distance, skyscrapers stick out. He’s spent more years in this city than not, grown to love it like family. But unlike family, the city doesn’t love him back. It’s not capable of it. No matter how much of his blood lines the streets, Jeno will only ever be one of millions that call the city home. 

Yes, what happened to him here wasn’t good. But it wasn’t all bad, and it’s not over yet. He won’t give up on the city just because of the past. 

And there’s you now. He has these moments where his heart beats so hard it feels like his chest will burst in the good way. He no longer ceases to exist when he isn’t fighting. Jeno worms his way back into reality, not separate from Red Hood, but no longer overshadowed by him. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these past couple weeks,” Jeno says. “Time to figure out what I want. For the longest time, it was revenge. It didn’t matter how I got it, how many people had to die. I would avenge myself no matter what. 

“And then you came into my life, and I would catch myself wondering what would have happened if I could have stayed back then, how different my life would be. I even wondered what would happen if I took off the mask, permanently. 

“But this is all I know how to be, and, I think even when I get my revenge, I won’t be able to leave this life behind.” He pauses, tilting his head away from the window and waiting until you meet his eyes.  “I don’t want to die again. I don't want to live this miserable half life where all I think about is getting back at the people who wronged me. I want to live, and when I’m with you, I feel alive.” 

You stare at him, eyes adorably wide. Maybe he's been a little too good at keeping his feelings hidden. It’s alright. He can wait for you to work it all out. It’s not like he’s got anywhere to be. 

“I like being with you,” he says. “I like who I am when I’m around you, and I like you. I mean, you’re stubborn and you always have to have the last word.” He smiles at your bewildered eyes. “But you care so much, not just about me, or your patients, but about everyone, and everything.

“Like your little houseplants that keep dying no matter what you do. I mean, it’s hilarious that you can save my life but you can’t keep a succulent alive. Or the way you talk about the street cats, and even the rats. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had sympathy for the cockroaches.” He finally manages to cut the rambling off. For a long moment you’re too quiet, and he begins to feel the inklings of fear worming its way up his stomach. 

“I don’t know about that,” you finally say, voice soft. “I think they might be radioactive here.” 

He waits but you don’t say anything else. He knows he shouldn’t ask, that he already has his answer. Still, he can’t help it. “That’s all you have to say?” 

Your eyes slide to the floor. “I… I don’t know.” 

“You feel something,” he says, reaching a tentative hand out to rest on top of yours. You freeze beneath him, eyes darting between his hand and his eyes like you can’t decide which you’re scared of more. 

“Tell me I’m not crazy,” he pleads. “Tell me you feel at least a fraction of the way I do.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “I do care about you,” you begin slowly, “I care about you too much. You have this life, and I know you need it, and I want you to have everything that you want, I just don’t think I can be a part of it when it inevitably destroys you.” 

He squeezes your hand. “It won’t destroy me,” he says, “I won’t let it.” 

“You died.” Your voice shakes. “I don’t think I could handle that.” 

“I won’t let that happen again!” Jeno says. “Things are different now, I’m not the same person I was when I died.” 

He won’t die again. He’s sure of it, not just because he’s learned from his mistakes but because he has something else to live for now. He has more than the family that pushed him to be more than he could, he has his own life, goals outside of revenge. But grounding it all is you, the first person he thinks of, always. He won’t die when it would hurt you this much. 

“Even if you could promise that, it’s not enough.” You look away from him. “I don’t want to die either, and it seems like that’s inevitable around people like you. The loved ones always die first.” 

He opens his mouth to say he would never let that happen but the words die in his throat. He can’t guarantee that, and one look at you proves even if he could it wouldn’t matter. It’s not enough. 

“I think I love you,” he whispers. 

You smile sadly. “I think I love you too. I wish it was that simple.” 

He sighs, resting his head against the couch cushion. “I don’t suppose supreme embarrassment is a good enough reason to let me go back to my own apartment, is it?” 

He watches you purse your lips out of the corner of his eye. He pretends not to see the tears threatening to spill over. 

“I have to go back to work,” you say, voice steady. “I suppose sleeping in your own bed won’t be a problem.” You turn stern. “As long as you swear you’ll actually rest.” 

Jeno winces. “I don’t think I can do anything else.” 

“And yet you will,” you say. Jeno knows it’s worthless to argue, especially when he really can’t promise he won’t do anything. He goes where he’s needed. 

But until then, he’s perfectly happy to wallow in the embarrassment of getting shot and shot down. 

.

.

(please enjoy a brief interlude until i figure out how to fix thing shitshow)

The city always smells cleaner after a good storm. You enjoy walking to work, though the piercing wail of sirens makes it harder to appreciate the way the city almost smells like spring. Green has returned, sprouts of grass and early flowers blooming. You can walk and breathe and pretend like your heart isn’t dragging along behind you. 

Jeno haunts you. You dared to check on him before leaving and found he has reverted back to the one word answers and solemn expressions, a shadow of a person. He barely even looks at you, and you can’t even blame him. You’ve done more than break his heart; you can bear the consequences of doing so. 

Because it doesn’t really matter. He will keep getting hurt and you will keep patching him up. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. 

Even if you can’t stop dreaming about him. 

An ambulance wails past, turning into the hospital. You try your best to push the Jeno thoughts away, preparing yourself for the inevitably grueling day. You push open the doors, the security guards now familiar. You smile at them, the movement of the muscles feeling foreign, and take the elevators to the fourth floor, heading to the locker room for the surgical interns. 

You’ve barely changed into your scrubs when Jaemin appears. 

“Wow,” he says, biting into an apple. “You look terrible.” 

You glare at him. “You look worse. How long have you been here?” 

He shrugs. “I got a whole six hours of sleep in an on-call room, so I’m actually doing great. You, on the other hand, look like you spent the two days fighting guys who wear pinstripe suits and call their henchmen goons.” He eyes you for a moment. “And you lost.” 

“That’s pretty much how I feel,” you say. “Though I still think you act like the criminals in this city are cartoon villains.” 

“The aquarium was attacked by a crocodile-man last week and the guy that stopped him cosplays as a bat,” Jaemin says. “I don’t know how you take any of this seriously.” 

It helps when you have a melodramatic version of the bat guy bleeding out on your couch every other week, you think. 

“I don’t know, being afraid for my life helps,” you say. 

“Oh the crocodile guy just wanted to free his people,” Jaemin waves his hand. “He wasn’t going to hurt anyone.” 

“His name is Killer Croc.” 

“Semantics,” Jaemin says. “But seriously, you’re okay? Nothing happened?”  

You shrug. “I just haven’t gotten enough sleep, I’ll be fine. Why are you acting so weird?” 

“You haven’t heard?” Jaemin asks. “Dr. Moon and Dr. Jung were both attacked three days ago. Dr. Jung is in the ICU and Dr. Moon is still missing.” 

“What happened?” 

“Police don’t really know yet,” Jaemin says, “but it’s connected. These big guys in suits with these weird black hoods were seen around both of their places before the attacks. They found Jaehyun in his apartment, beaten pretty bad, he’s been in a coma ever since.” 

“Wow,” you say. You’ve worked with both of them quite a bit. You spent a week learning about skin grafts with Dr. Moon, a star plastic surgeon. Jaehyun gave you an extra shower curtain when you mentioned you tore yours when a cockroach crawled up your shower brain while you were in it. They’re both good, nice people, not the type to get involved in trouble—definitely not trouble like this. 

“Is Jaehyun going to be okay?” 

Jaemin purses his lips and shrugs. “Still not sure. He had some pretty serious injuries, most of which were patched up but apparently he had some bad head trauma. They called in the Lee Taemin from Central.” 

“You didn’t shit your pants meeting your hero?” 

“YN,” Jaemin says sharply, “a good friend of mine was in the hospital, and the best neurosurgeon in the country, the guy I will one day convince to be my mentor, was called in to save his life. Of course I was shitting my pants.” 

“Did you get to meet him?” 

“I thought it would be weird to introduce myself to him, but I did happen to visit Jaehyun while he stopped by, and happened to mention I wanted to pursue neuro when he asked.” 

“And?” 

“And he said it was a smart decision. Or said only the smartest thrive. He’s very confusing.” 

“So basically you’re obsessed?” 

“Yep.” 

You lean against the metal lockers, letting the cold press against the back of your neck. You think about Jaehyun, hooked up to machines with a whole team of doctors, including a star doctor, all working to keep him alive. How long will it be before that’s Jeno, except no machines, no team, just you? How long before you won’t be enough? 

.

.

Jeno has discovered all there is to know about his ceiling. There’s eleven cracks, tiny fissures in the paint that’s at least ten years old. The color is off white, not cream, though in the corner above the door, they did a touch up with a paint that has slightly more blue. He can tell what time it is from the angle of the light coming through the window. 

He’s beginning to run out of things to learn. 

He misses you, so much. He wonders what your ceiling looks like, if it’s got its own little galaxy of cracks. He misses sitting on your couch, knowing that he’d see you soon. 

 He can’t remember the last time he got out of bed, and he can’t even blame it on the gunshot wound. He's not fully recovered, but he doesn’t need to lay in bed all day. He should be up and moving, keeping himself in shape, or at least hunting down the guys who attacked him. All he managed to do was set up an alert with the license plate of the car he saw, feeding it through all the security cameras he could get access to. 

But otherwise he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. 

Getting this dejected over a rejection makes him feel like a teenager—not that he ever went through this during his teenage years. He can put on the mask and be Red Hood, but Jeno? He doesn’t know how to be Jeno alone, he doesn’t want to learn. He had his parents when he was younger, then Bruce, and Dick, and the family that began to grow among them. Despite all he used to whine, he’s never truly been alone. 

Will he be alone now? Will Jeno even exist without the people around him to keep him going? Or will he truly become Red Hood, letting the man behind the mask cease to exist. 

He knows what Bruce would say. The mask can’t exist without the man. But Bruce is the reason he put a mask on in the first place. He can philosophize all day long, it’s his fault Jeno ever died. He doesn’t have to listen to the man’s words. 

Jeno rests his hand over the wound. He hardly feels the ridge where the stitches are. He wonders how the wound will scar. 

It doesn’t make any sense but even though his body heals unnaturally fast, the scars remain. It’s like his body remembers dying and wants to remind him—even though he came back once and he’s stronger than ever before—he’s still human. 

And there’s nothing more human than a broken heart. He should be grateful it’s only metaphorical. 

Jeno sighs. The worst part is he knows how dramatic he’s being. But it’s only been 28 hours. He can allow himself a little bit of time for the dramatics. Bruce takes like a month off when a civilian dies under his watch. 

He pulls his blanket closer, wondering if it’s too far to put on some music—something loud, maybe. 

Instead he hears a ding, a notification from his computer. He sits up a little too fast, feeling a tug on his stitches, though they don’t fall apart. 

He can’t spare too much thought to them, not when his screen lights up with feed from a security camera, zoomed in to show the license plate of a dark sedan, the numbers he remembers. It rolls past, camera shifting down the block as Jeno drops into his chair, typing rapidly until the screen zooms out. The larger screen reveals the sedan is one of many, traveling in a line together. 

He sets up the second monitor to plot their movements across the city, a bright red line tracing the few turns they take. 

The windows of each car are tinted, concealing those within. But, with his previous encounter, it’s safe to assume there’s plenty of hired muscle in the six cars. It could be anywhere between fifteen and thirty men, headed this way. 

He watches them draw closer, tapping his finger on the desk. They caught him by surprise last time. On a good day, he wouldn’t sweat odds this bad, but it’s not a good day. He can still feel his insides healing. 

It’ll be a tough fight, but he’s planned for this. He’ll rig the place, take down as many as he can and get to one of the other safe houses. 

The Jeno that lived here will disappear. And it will be for the best. 

He changes into his suit, moving as fast as he can without hurting himself. He stuffs as many weapons as he can into his pockets, his belt weighing extra heavy around his waist. 

Then he gets to work on the bomb. A smaller explosive, more of a popper than a true bomb, but enough to take out his computer and all of the evidence he’s left behind here. 

He wonders if the police will come. Will they question you? Surely someone has noticed he spends a lot of time with you. You’d never give him up, but would you defend him? Would you go on television, tell the world Red Hood is just a man? You’d look good on television. 

You wouldn’t though. You wouldn’t say a word, not to the cops, not to anyone. 

He’s really going to miss you. 

He checks the map. Still five blocks away. Except… The cameras first picked up the sedans in the upper east part of the city, by the Sprang River. They mostly traveled west from there, they’re still north of him. 

They stop at a light, just two blocks away. He watches, waiting for them to turn. 

The sedans roll straight ahead, passing the apartment. He frowns, staring at the screen but the cars keep going, one block, two, and then they pull to a stop. 

Jeno curses, grabbing the keys to his bike. It was never about him. 

.

.

The sun peeks through the windows of the hospital, the only sign time passes. The setting sun casts the parking lot in gold, making even the ugliest cars shine. You pause to peek outside, for once not in a rush. You have to scrub in with Dr. Qian in twenty minutes, but until then, you have a rare moment of freedom. 

Because you’re standing at the window, you see the exact moment the cars pull up. They form a line, like a row of beetles, stopping in front of the entrance, blocking the parked cars. As soon as they roll to a stop, the doors fly open, men streaming out all wearing black hoods. They line up in front of the car closest to the entrance, whose doors had remained closed since stopping. The driver exits first, another hooded man, though considerably smaller than the rest. He opens the door to the backseat, head bowed low. 

The man in the backseat takes his time. Pale hands peek out of the carefully fitted suit, the only open skin you can see. He steps out from the car and the line of men bend into sharp bows. He closes the door and you finally get a full look at him: from the suit to his shoes, he wears all black, but most striking is the black mask that covers his face. It melts into his suit, keeping every inch of his skin hidden save for his hands. 

He must say something, because the men straighten and vanish from your view, streaming into the hospital. 

Is it too late to alert security? There has to be twenty men, and with how Jaehyun looks, you doubt they’ll be able to hold them off. 911, then? It’ll take the cops forever to respond, and it’s too late. They’re already here. 

You could call him. He’d come. 

Despite all your instincts screaming at you to hide, you turn around. The lobby is packed with the final rush of visitors, and 9-to-5 staff getting ready to leave for the day. It’ll be safer to pack in with them than be caught on your own, and maybe you can warn security before mass panic breaks out. You rush down the hall to the large open space in the front of the hospital. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but everything feels too normal. A father holds his child’s hand as they walk to the bathroom. A nurse whispers furiously into her phone. An elderly couple hold hands, clipboards to the side of them. You scan the small crowd, looking for a security guard. 

Instead you find a brute of a man, black hood tipping back as he raises a gun above his head and fires it a couple times. 

“Everybody quiet!” He growls. “On the ground!” 

You drop into a squat, hands automatically coming above your head as screams echo. Someone yanks on your coat, knocking you off balance. Your heart nearly stops but it’s just Jaemin pulling you to sit beside him with a wall at your back instead of the open hallway. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. You slide into a seated position, back against the wall. Jaemin crouches next to you, keeping one hand on the wheelchair of the patient he must have been with before all of this. You peek at him and recognize him as Yoon Jeonghan, the guy that got hit by a truck while biking. He looks like he’s trying to decide if he’s included in the “on the ground” order. 

The goons pick on a couple people, shoving them to the ground. 

“Hands above your heads!” One of them orders, pointing his gun at random. You raise your hands again, Jaemin following more reluctantly. 

Ten minutes pass as goons escort people from all over the hospital, the lobby quickly becoming packed. Half the patients are in wheelchairs, clinging to IV drips while the doctors and nurses glare at the men. Finally, it seems they have collected everybody, and a quiet tension falls over the room. 

Then the man in the black mask strolls in. 

“What’s the saying?” He asks, muffled voice carrying in the open space. “If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.” He clasps his hands behind his back, strolling along, peeking at the cowering hostages. 

“He doesn’t have a pinstripe suit,” Jaemin whispers. 

“I don’t even think he’ll call the henchmen goons,” you whisper back. 

Jaemin shakes his head. He’d probably tsk if he didn’t think it would get you both killed. 

“I bet they’ll still beat us up,” you whisper. 

“If you don’t shut up, they definitely will,” Jeonghan mutters. 

Jaemin rolls his eyes and makes a face at you. You bite back a smile. You’ve tempted fate enough. 

“The name you all will know me by is Black Mask,” he announces. 

This time you can’t help the smile, turning away from Jaemin to prevent yourself from laughing out loud. Even Jeonghan mutters, “Very creative.” 

“I have a list, you see,” Black Mask continues, “people that owe me. They know what they’ve done. I promise if your name is not on that list and you don’t make a fuss, no harm will come to you. I’m a reasonable man.” 

Reasonable men don’t play dress up and shoot up hospitals, but you figure he’s due for a dramatic speech. At least he’s explaining why he’s here. 

Black Mask pauses in front of one of the nurses—Shotaro, a good nurse who you’ve worked with several times. He grabs him by the shoulder, sending him sprawling to the floor. 

“This one,” Black Mask announces, waving at his goons to pick Shotaro up. They half drag him away as Black Mask continues to make his way through the crowd. 

“This is more efficient, you know,” he says. “I’ve tried other methods, but there were some complications. So, I thought to myself, if you’re all in one place, why not just go to the source?” He points at another nurse, Sehun, but Dr. Bae steps in front of him. Black Mask pauses, tilting his head to peer at her before gesturing to the goons to drag them both away. Dr. Bae puts up a fight, trying to twist out of their grip, but one of the men tosses her over his shoulder and carries her out. Sehun follows, stumbling behind. 

Dr. Moon, Jaehyun, Shotaro, Sehun, and Dr. Bae, though it seems like she wasn’t originally a target. All good, hard workers, not the type to make mistakes, definitely not collectively. You watch as Black Mask creeps closer and closer. 

You’ve worked with all of them. Only a few months ago, a case of a man with terrible burns on his face. Your blood runs cold as Black Mask stops in front of you. You stand up, a heartbeat before he points. 

“You,” Black Mask says, venom seeping into his voice. “You owe me.” 

“I remember you,” you say, keeping your voice soft. 

“You remember what you did to me,” he says. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, “and neither did anyone else in this hospital.” 

He raises a hand and smacks you, and before you can react, two of his men grab your arms, dragging you away whether your feet move or not. You try to think of something witty or smart, but all you can think is how much you don’t want to die. 

They take you to the stairs, carrying you up two flights of stairs before depositing you in an empty patient room. One of the men stays with you, guarding the door, while the other vanishes. 

You glare at the man, face stinging. Jeno would tell you not to provoke a psychopath. 

But Jeno’s not here. You shouldn’t want him to be, because even if he could be here, he would only get himself hurt, and you won’t be responsible for causing him any more pain. 

He said he loved you, even after all he’s been through. He wasn’t afraid. 

You don’t want Jeno here, not to save the day. But it’d be nice to apologize to him. And if there was only one person you could say goodbye to before you died, you’d want it to be Jeno. 

Maybe you do want Jeno to save the day. Just so you can apologize. Just so you can tell him you were wrong. Just so you can finally admit the truth. 

.

Jeno’s bike screeches to a stop a block away from the hospital. He parks it in an alley, covering it with a tarp and trusting that the locks will prevent anyone from stealing it. He hopes he’s swiped it from the impound lot enough times for the police to leave it alone too. 

He climbs to the roof of the nearest building, moving painfully slow, between the pull of the stitches and the exhaustion of healing such a large wound. But from here he can see the line of black cars in front of the hospital, the setting sun reflecting on the metal, making it difficult to see. He switches to infrared, the mask buzzing a couple times before picking up on the mass of bodies in the main lobby. Majority of the building is far too empty for a place of medicine. 

From his memory of studying the schematics on an off day, he remembers the west facing wing houses the operating rooms, which explains why the infrared picks up a couple small masses. But with the rest of the hospital empty, the four rooms on the third floor stand out. Each holds two bodies, one significantly larger than the other. 

That’s where he’ll start. 

A better fighter would get a better gauge of the situation. Maybe spend more time determining which are civilians and which are hostiles, or figure out exactly where they’re holding people. But Jeno has always worked best flying by the seat of his pants. He still doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but these must be the hostages important enough to separate from the main group. 

It would be safest if you were on the first floor, just one of many in the crowd, but the selfish part of Jeno wants you to be where he can see you. Where he can save you. 

He can’t waste any more time. He shoots the grappling gun, pulling on it to build momentum even faster and angle himself directly at the window. It shatters beneath his feet, and he tucks into a tight ball, rolling once before springing onto his feet. He ducks as the big man swings a crowbar at him, wincing at the sharp pain near his stomach. He takes a quick strike with his knife, slashing up across the stomach first, then across the throat, finally driving the knife into the man’s heart. He crumples to the ground and doesn’t move. 

Jeno pulls the blade out, wiping the blood from the knife on his pants and sheathing it. He turns around to find a figure in a white lab coat, cowering in the corner of the room, hands over their head, glass shards scattered around them. 

He crouches down in front of you, brushing the glass off your shoulder. You peek up at him, eyes softening as you recognize him even though you’ve never seen him in the mask before. There’s a small cut on your cheek. His thumb moves on its own, swiping at the blood and doing nothing but spread more on your face. 

“Are you okay?” Jeno asks. The modulator of the mask twists his voice into an unrecognizable beast. It’s perfect for protecting his identity and intimidating low lives, not so great for comforting the scared victims. Maybe he should tweak that part of the suit, make it adjustable. But you don’t flinch, standing up and shaking the rest of the glass off. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “How did you get here so fast?” 

“These are the same guys that shot me,” Jeno says. “I had a tracker out on the car, which led me here.” 

“Sionis,” you say. Jeno frowns. He knows that name. 

“Roman Sionis, that’s the guy doing all of this,” you explain. “He was a patient three months ago, really bad damage to his face. He’s targeting the team responsible for his care, doctors, nurses, everyone he blames for what happened to his face.” 

“Which includes you,” Jeno says. 

You nod, eyes tight. “Which means they weren’t after you when you got shot.” 

“Hey,” Jeno says. “I’m fine. You patched me up, and I’ve got the super healing, so if either of us was going to get shot, I’d rather it be me. It’s not your fault.” 

“I know,” you say, though you don’t sound like you believe it. “Should you really be jumping through windows, though?” 

He shrugs. “Didn’t pull the stitches. I swear.” 

You purse your lips but let it go. He wishes you would just say what you’re thinking but you look away from him, glancing at the door. 

“They took three more of us up here, and they probably know you’re here by now.” 

Jeno nods. Resolve the situation, then talk. 

“I’m going to clear out the rooms one at a time,” he says, “then work my way downstairs.” He unholsters a gun, handing it to you. You raise an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never used one of these.” You reluctantly take the gun out of his hands. 

“Point and squeeze the trigger,” he says. “It’s semi-automatic, you don’t have to do anything to reload. If they’re close enough you won’t even have to aim.” He forms your hands around the gun, teasing your fingers into the right position and turning off the safety. He lets his hands linger, waiting for your eyes to meet his, though he remembers a moment later that the mask conceals them. 

“Get the rest of the hostages and stay together,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He forces himself to let go of your hands but doesn’t step away yet. 

He should say something else. Maybe apologize for what he said. Take it back. But he meant every word of it, even if you did too. He’s said all he can, and if that’s still not enough then at least you’re still alive. 

“Go save the day,” you finally say. “Then… I’ll see you after.” 

He nods, turning away and striding to the door, stepping over the body. “Wait for me to clear the rest of them, then get the hostages out of here.” 

He pulls the door closed behind him, trusting that you will be fine on your own. He doesn’t have time to worry, ducking to dodge the knife that flies toward him. He doesn’t let the man get a second chance, sprinting as fast as he can and burying his knife in the man’s heart. He’s turning a second later, using the man’s body as a shield against the second man in the hall, who doesn’t hesitate to fire a couple shots. Jeno throws the first man’s body on him, his knife following quickly after, burying itself in the man’s forehead. 

Like always, his pains melt away when he’s fighting. He barely feels the tug of the stitches, or the exhaustion he felt earlier. This body was made to kill, and that’s what he’ll do. 

He ducks into the room next to yours, knocking the guard to the floor and stabbing him. The hostage, a woman wearing a white lab coat, stands. 

“Wait here,” he says. “I’ll clear the rest of this hall. Don’t go outside unless you want to get shot.” 

She nods slowly. 

Jeno clears the other two rooms similarly, quick and far too easy. He hesitates at the stairwell. He should clear the rest of the civilians if he wants to resolve things quickly, but it feels wrong to leave these hostages to you—you were a hostage yourself only a few minutes ago. But it’s irrational. He knows you’re capable of protecting yourself, and smart enough not to get yourself killed. He has to trust you and do his job. You were the one that told him to save the day. 

He doesn’t bother with the stairs, jumping in the open space between the flights and using his grappling hook to control his fall. If he wasn’t hurt, he’d just drop the three stories, but it’s only a little slower this way. He retracts the hook with a button and sticks it back into his belt, pulling out his knives. 

He makes it halfway down the hall before he sees the first figure, raising his knife on instinct. He drops it a moment later, picking out the scrubs from here. The nurse sprints past him, barely glancing at him. More and more people follow, until a stream of people flood the hall. They part around him, allowing Jeno to make it to the lobby as it clears. Only a few people remain, mostly patients that struggle to move on their own and the people that stayed behind to protect them. 

Where is Sionis? Where are all of his men? Even in the flood of people, they would have stood out. Did they hear the commotion upstairs and run? One of the men fired his gun a couple times, maybe they went to investigate. 

No, they wouldn’t have let the hostages go if that were the case. He curses himself for not trusting his instincts, turning around to get back to the stairs, but the hallway is still blocked by all the people clamoring to leave. 

It takes painfully long to get to a stairwell, but he finally makes it. That’s when he hears the gunshot—different from the pops before, no this is a sound he recognizes. This is his gun. 

.

.

You wait until the hallway is quiet, peeking out the window for good measure. Nothing moves, the bodies on the floor limp. Blood pools around the three, puddles bright against the white tiles. You wait for another heart beat, holding your breath but the only movement comes from the blood, trickling down the hall. 

The door creaks open beneath your fingers. It feels like your footsteps echo as you hurry to the closest door. You make it to the first door, hand on the doorknob when you hear it—footsteps echoing from the stairwell, the opposite side of where Jeno left. They thunder up the stairs, at least ten men. 

You open the door a crack, whispering a sharp, “Stay hidden!” 

You don’t give whoever is behind the door a chance to argue, closing the door and sprinting to the stairwell as fast as you can. You hear a shout just as you cross into the stairwell, sprinting forward. You take one step toward the descending flight but see dark heads bobbing in the space between the stairs. You curse, turning and heading up. 

Shit, shit, shit. You can only go up. The men from the other end of the hall burst into the stairwell, your heart sending another shot of adrenaline through your body and pushing you to take steps three at a time. Even as you feel your body working harder than ever before, you know it won’t last. You have to find somewhere to hide. 

You burst onto the fifth floor, cringing as the door slams against the wall. No chance they missed that. 

You run as far as you dare, ducking into a storage closet and curling into a ball in the farthest corner, hiding behind a wall of bedpans. You shove a hand over your mouth, trying to cover your heaving breaths. Bile rises in your throat as the sprinting catches up to you but you swallow hard, closing your eyes and praying. 

Jeno’s gun rests in your other hand. The cold metal helps calm you down, your breathing evening out as you hear a door bang open. A moment later then there’s another bang. You hear footsteps in the hall, then another. They must be checking room by room. 

You’re about halfway down the hall, maybe five rooms in. You don’t have much time. 

You raise the gun, letting go of your mouth to hold it with both hands. Your finger drops to the trigger. Point and squeeze, Jeno said. You can do that. You aim it at the door, bracing your arm on your knees to keep them from shaking. 

You flinch at the next bang, feeling the wall shake. They’re in the room right next to you. They trash the room, sending vibrations through the floor, until it suddenly stops. 

You’ll have to move fast, you can’t give them any chance. 

Light cascades around as the door is thrown open. You squeeze the trigger, keeping the gun aimed at the large mass in front of you. There’s a loud bang and the gun slams your shoulder back but the man stumbles backward. You squeeze the trigger again and this time he goes down. 

A second man dodges the falling body, taking a step inside but you squeeze the trigger again and again and again and he falls too. 

Shit, how many shots was that? You clench your teeth but they seemed to have learned the lesson for the moment—nobody follows. 

“Alright, that’s enough fun.” You recognize Sionis’ voice from behind the mask this time. “Come out on your own or get dragged out. Your choice.” 

“I’d really rather stay here,” you say, voice shaking. You force yourself to your feet. 

“Fun way it is,” Black Mask says. This time two men push their way through, one blocking the other. You shoot and it hits the front man in the shoulder but he doesn’t go down. You squeeze the trigger again but nothing happens. 

You throw the gun at him, hoping to catch him in the head but he just knocks it away. You start pulling things from the shelves, throwing as hard as you can. It does nothing to stop them, grabbing you by the arms and heaving you off your feet. You twist and kick and try to bite but they don’t seem to notice. They hold you up in front of Black Mask in the middle of the hallway. 

“You are a feisty one,” he muses, watching you thrash. 

“Let me go,” you say. You try to growl but it comes out more like pathetic begging. 

“I’d like you to calm down a bit,” he says. 

You open your mouth to tell him to fuck off but apparently that was some sort of signal because one of the men raises a fist and brings it down hard on the top of your head. 

It sends jitters down your spine as your teeth clang together. You blink tears away, your head lolling forward a little. The floor blurs beneath you—no it’s your eyes, struggling to focus. 

“Now, on with business,” Black Mask says, clasping gloved hands together. “I—”

You nearly fall to the floor as one of the men holding you—the one you shot in the shoulder—falls to the ground. You tilt backward as the second man goes down but a tight hand around your arm yanks you backward. 

Black Mask pulls you into a patient room, the bed pushed against the wall next to the bathroom. He pulls you away from the door until your back is against the window. He keeps his hand tight around your arm, pressing something hard and cold against the side of your head. Your brain still reels from the hit but you don’t have to think hard to figure out it’s a gun. 

There are a few shouts from the hallway but it falls quiet quickly. Only one pair of boots echo in the hall, solemn footsteps that pause by the door. Then Jeno appears in the doorway. 

Blood splatters cover the shirt, concealing the bat motif. It seeps into his leather jacket, though Jeno himself seems to be unscathed. He holds a gun in one hand and his knife in the other. 

“That’s close enough,” Black Mask says when he tries to step inside. 

Jeno’s mask covers his eyes, but if it didn’t, you’re pretty sure he’d be glaring. “Let the innocent go. Settle this like an adult.” 

“Innocent?” Black Mask cackles. “Sure, I’ll let the innocent go. I already did that.” He grips your arm tighter, pressing the gun harder into the side of your head. “But this one isn’t innocent.”

He taps on the mask. “I don’t wear this for fun, I’m sure you know. But I’m not like you. I don’t hide to protect myself or my loved ones—I don’t even have loved ones, and you know why? Because this idiot and the idiots at this hospital don’t know how to do a simple facial repair!” 

“They were third degree burns, you’re lucky to have a face,” you say. 

“Shut up!” Black Mask screams, shoving you. Jeno takes a step forward but freezes when Black Mask turns back to him. 

“One more step and you’ll be cleaning some brains off your mask!” He takes a breath, lowering his voice. “I’ll be the first to tell you, that’s no easy task.” 

“Let the hostage go.” Jeno sounds cold through the modulator.  

“And you’ll let me go?” Black Mask huffs a short laugh. “I don’t think so. Your reputation precedes you.” 

“Then you know what will happen if you pull that trigger.” 

“Leave now and I’ll leave this one alive,” Black Mask says. 

“What, half mad after you spend a few hours with your tools?” Jeno says. “Your reputation precedes you, too.” 

Black Mask sighs. “Then it seems I have no choice.” The gun presses hard against your head. 

“I’ll be seeing you around,” Black Mask says. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the shot but the pressure on the side of your head vanishes. 

There’s a loud bang, and for a moment you’re sure you’ve died, but then you feel a hard shove on your chest. Your legs hit the wall but it’s not enough to stop you from tumbling out the window, nothing but air beneath you. 

You barely raise your arms out before something tackles into you, an arm wrapping around your waist. You wrap your arms and legs around whatever they find, clinging like a baby monkey to Jeno’s side. 

He raises the other arm, shooting the grappling hook and pulling hard. You snap in the air, swinging up higher than you had fallen until you’ve crested the roof. 

“I got you,” Jeno says, arm wrapped so tightly around you you’re crushed against his side. 

He takes all the weight as you fall onto the roof, bracing the landing with his legs, somehow remaining upright. 

You can only cling to him, waiting for your brain to sort out what happened. You aren’t dead. Black Mask threw you out the window. Jeno caught you. You repeat the words over and over in your head until they almost make sense. 

“We’re back on solid ground,” Jeno says. 

“Mhm.” You don’t let go, keeping your arms tight around his neck. 

“You’re safe now,” he says. 

“I know.” 

He pauses. “You can let go.” 

“Not ready yet.” 

“Okay.” 

For a long moment all you can hear is the pounding of your heart. It lessens and you start to hear tires screeching on pavement down below, people shouting, sirens wailing in the distance. 

“Black Mask is getting away,” you say. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jeno says. “I’ll get him when I get him.” His hand ghosts over your back. “All that matters is you’re okay.” 

“I’m fine,” you say. “Physically fine, at least. Just trying to sort out my head.” 

He hums, second arm wrapping around you in a true hug. You let yourself linger in the moment, breathing in the sharp scent of blood on his jacket. It smears against your scrubs as you press closer to him, turning them slimy against your skin. The jacket hides the warmth of his body, a hard layer separating you from him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

You lean back, letting go of his neck to rest your hands against the side of his mask. Whatever it’s made out of is hard, a thin metal that curves around his features yet doesn’t bend beneath your fingers. It doesn’t look anything like Jeno, the pale eyes concealing the most human part of him. He reaches up, pulling the mask off. 

Sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead, which is creased with concern. His eyes flit between yours, dark and full of everything. For too long when you first ran into him, he would look at you with cold emptiness. Though you can’t read everything behind them now, he doesn’t bury all his feelings. He lets them shine through. 

“It’s not your fault,” you begin, letting your hands fall to his shoulders. “Too much has happened, and that guy hit my head, and I thought I was going to die, so it’s hard to tell what I want to say. What I’ve been meaning to say.” You take a deep breath, looking at his forehead instead of his eyes, at the white streak of hair that clings to his forehead. “But if I don’t say it now, I think I’ll chicken out and never say it. 

“I’m kind of a coward,” you say. “I don’t want to get hurt—I mean, like, don’t let anybody anywhere near my heart to keep it safe, and it works. I’ll find an excuse, any excuse to push them away. 

“I did it to you. Yeah, I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to think about you dying because it always sends me into a spiral, but those were all excuses. It doesn’t matter that you wear that mask. That doesn’t change anything, and I won’t hide behind it anymore. 

“I love you,” you say, “so much. So much that it’s making me brave. I don't want to be a coward anymore. I want to love you. I’m sorry it took me so long, but I love you, I really, really do.” 

Jeno doesn’t say anything for a long moment, looking back and forth between your eyes. He doesn’t frown or smile, his face a mask itself. 

“Oh,” he says. 

“Apparently near death experiences lead to radical reflections and revaluations of life values.” 

And then he smiles, a real smile that curls his eyes and sends your stomach hurtling in somersaults. He presses his forehead against yours, your hands still resting on his shoulders. 

“Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault,” you say. You brush his cheek with your thumb. “Save your applogies for real fuck ups.” 

He snorts. “Think there’s going to be a lot of those?” 

“Somehow I think I’m going to get stood up a lot,” you say. “It’s okay, though. That’s just what happens when you date a superhero.” 

“I don’t know about that,” he says. “I’m no superhero.” 

You kiss his nose. “Whatever you want to call it. But you’re a good man, Lee Jeno, through and through.” 

Jeno brushes his lips against yours, barely a kiss. He moves hesitantly, like he’s scared you’ll crumble in his hands. 

Well, you’re not going to die, he made sure of that. You are here and alive, and so is he. You grip the neckline of his jacket, pulling him into a crushing kiss. You press your lips harder against his and his arms tighten around you, finally kissing you back. 

It’s terrifying, how much you trust him. Like jumping off a cliff and knowing he’ll catch you—which basically he just did—you have to let go of the fear. Even when his arms are wrapped around you and you can feel him with every atom, it isn’t easy—a part of you will always want to run away, protect yourself. But you’re done running. Jeno put a gun in your hand and told you to fight. You can do that for him—for yourself. 

You will hold onto him and you will love him and he will do the same for you. It’s all you can do. 

.

.

Bonus: 

Jeno doesn’t know how you slept on this armchair. The back is stiff against his back and he can’t hang his legs off the side without the arms cutting into the back of his knees. He can tuck his head against the wing but it leaves his neck at an awkward angle. 

It’s for the best, though, since he needs to stay awake anyway. He shifts the chair until it’s against the side of the bed and sets his legs back on the edge of the bed, crossing one over the other and resting his elbows on the armrest. You raise your eyebrows at his feet but don’t tell him to move. He’ll give it a good twenty minutes before he tries to sit on the bed. He wonders if you’ll kick him out if he just asks outright if he can curl up next to you. Better to ease into it. 

You look radiant, wearing a big t-shirt curled under the blankets. Your lips curl into a little smile every time you catch him looking at you (which is pretty much always). 

“I’m going to invest in a big ass taser,” you say, still listing out your plan to keep yourself safe. “And some heavy duty pepper spray.” 

“I can teach you how to shoot a gun,” Jeno offers. 

You make a face, nose scrunching. 

“No?” 

You shake your head slowly. “No thank you. My arms hurt.”  

“How about some hand-to-hand?” He asks. 

“Are you going to be able to keep your hands to yourself?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

You look pointedly at his hand, which has found yours, fingers tapping on your knuckles. Huh, he didn’t realize he was doing that. He raises both hands, holding them up like a criminal waiting to be arrested. 

“My bad,” he says, setting them in his lap. Your bottom lip juts out for a second but you’re too proud to ask him to hold it again. He bites back a smile at the little war behind your eyes. 

“How’s your head?” He asks. 

“Concussed,” you say flatly. 

“You want to sleep?” He asks. 

“Not yet,” you say. You finally concede, reaching out a hand for him. He puts his feet down, slipping out of the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, clasping his hand over yours. Your shoulder rests against his hip. You blink up at him. 

“What?” He asks. “Is this okay?” 

You nod slowly, studying him with piercing eyes. He gets the feeling you see right through him, so he turns his gaze to your intertwined fingers. 

“What did you think of me when you first saw me? When you moved here, I mean,” he asks. 

You pause for a long moment. “Honestly?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you were unemployed for at least two months.” 

Jeno snorts. 

“I mean pretty much every time I knocked you were wearing sweats and half the time you looked like you had just woken up!” 

Jeno scratches the back of his head with his free hand. “I don’t wear sweats that often.” 

You pause for a moment and he doesn’t dare peek at your face. “When you asked me to sew up your scalp, I figured it was either vigilante or something worse, and then I saw Red Hood on the news and I just knew.” 

He looks at you, head tilted down to see the top of your head. “Really?” 

“It looks like you,” you say. You pause before adding, “Plus you’ve got that leather jacket hanging in your entryway. What’s up with that, by the way?” 

“What?” 

“Your ‘suit.’ A leather jacket and cargo pants?” 

“They’re functional,” he says. 

“Your name is Red Hood and you don’t even have a hood. It’s a mask.” 

“Well a hood doesn’t exactly protect you,” he says, “and it strikes fear into my enemies.” 

You snort. “Does the black t-shirt help with that?” 

“Yeah, I can’t defend that one,” he says. “It’s cheap and easy.” 

“No wonder you died,” you say. 

“I take personal offense at that,” Jeno says. 

You yawn. “Okay buddy.” You scoot over a little. “Just lay down already.” 

Jeno grins, shifting to pull the covers up and slide his legs down them. He stretches out, rolling as close as he dares to you. His arm hovers over you until you shake your head and pull it over your waist, shifting until he all but lays on top of you. Your shoulder presses against his chest, his head resting on the same pillow only a breath away from you. 

“If you wanted to cuddle you could have just asked,” you say. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

You turn your head to meet his eyes, nose brushing against his. He could melt into your eyes, so warm and full of a happiness he hardly recognizes. He hopes he looks a fraction as happy as you do—and he hopes you know it’s only a fraction of how he feels. 

He didn’t think he’d ever feel happy again. Even if he finally got his revenge on Joker and Batman, it would be bittersweet at best, the end goal of a bitter fight that started when he dragged himself out of that grave. 

But he is happy. It’s the warmth that courses through every fiber of his body, the way his heart pounds every time he looks at you, the hope he feels when he thinks of the “after.” 

“You know it’s been years since the last time I smiled?” He says. 

“Yeah, I could tell.” Your eyes soften impossibly more. You rest your hand against his cheek again, fingers soft and careful as they trace the lines of his smile. They work their way to his lips, ghosting over the soft skin. 

“I think that part is over,” Jeno says. “Hating the world.” He presses a kiss on your thumb. “I’d like to be happier now. 

“Red Hood is a part of who I am, and it always will be. But Jeno is too, and I won’t let go of that.” He tightens his arm. “I’d like to hold onto you, too, though.” 

You grin. “I’d like that too.” You press a short kiss to his lips. “But my head hurts and right now I’d really just like to go to bed.” 

Jeno nods, shifting away only to turn off the lamp on your bedside table. He curls back around you, tucking his head against your neck and pulling you as close to him as he can. He is Jeno, he is Red Hood, and he isn’t alone anymore. 

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

[kiestrokes]

i like had this thought in the back of my head of like what ateez would be like with an S/O who has a physical illness bcs i actually have one which causes a lot of pain to my bones and i'm like in a constant state of pain and discomfort, been going on for about 12 years HELL YA ✊🏻, if i don't keep up on my meds (currently don't have the proper meds so it only tides me over for a little while-) then im basically fucked so IDK i feel like there isn't a lot of stuff written about this kind of stuff (im a sucker for shit i hardly ever am able to read abt) ALSO IM NOT 100% SURE IF YOUR REQS WERE OPEN BCS I DIDNT SEE ANYTHING POSTED ABT IT SO- YA- if you don't want to write it obviously you don't have to !! no pressure at all lovely

ATEEZ Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition | SFW

Pairing: ATEEZ x Gender Neutral!Reader/You/Yn Rating: SFW Genre: fluff, slice of life, headcanons, imagines, scenarios. Warnings: chronic illness + immunocompromised talk.

🗝️ Note: Hey atiny anon! You actually asked the right person; I have fibromyalgia combined with a few other annoying chronic illnesses. Because you can't just have one 😓 I hope that you can find a decent fucking doctor and get on the proper medication soon. That's the biggest part of the struggle, finding a physician that will listen and is competent enough. I hope this was enough, I tried to assign each member a caring task that I felt fit them! Has not been beta-ed.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below. 

Seonghwa 

He’s here to help you prevent all the chronic pain that he can. Booking you massage visits. Trips to the hot springs. All the arnica rubs. Silly little games the two of you play, to keep your mind off the pain and depression spirals. His favorite is seeing who can build their new Lego set the quickest. Hwa is the biggest advocate for you, he would never return a dish at the restaurant when its wrong. But he will fight for you at every appointment, every pharmacy, wherever you need him to. Because he knows you've grown tired of fighting all the time.

Hongjoong

HJ's specialty is flexibility. You have a sudden burst of energy? He’s down to go explore that new pop-up market with you. You’ve come down with a bout of bone numbing pain? That’s cool, you’re getting changed into comfy clothes and piled up on the couch. Swaddled in your heating pad with all the snacks. Where he falls asleep on your shoulder. HJ never gets frustrated with your rapid change in mood or plans. Nothing but the most understanding partner you could ever have asked for, and boy is he so cute and snuggly when dozing on you. Small hands seeking your face for drowsy kisses that soothe your aches just a smidge.

Yunho

The quiet presence, the one who knows what you need before you say it. Passing you tissues, making you a cup of tea and most importantly holding you so that you can cry. Shedding angry tears about how frustrated you are with your own body for betraying you. For feeling weak. For missing out on things. He's gently calming every frayed nerve in your brain. Reassuring you that you're exactly where you need to be in this moment, and he will bring all of the fun to you. And he does, in small, manageable doses.

Yeosang

His way of caring for you is through caring for your outside. All the skin masks, hair treatments, skin softening lotions because if you feel cruddy, at least he can make you feel cute and comfortable. They do heal though, in their own way. The extra moisture of the humidifier and every cream and essence he buffs into your skin helps keep some of the aches away. Subsiding the itchiness of the nerve pain, just a little. And you can’t get over how cute Yeosang looks in each animal themed headband or with his hair tied back into teeny space buns or how nice his hands feel every time they glide over your skin.

San

Where Yunho is quietly attentive, San is passionately attentive. You cry, he cries (while holding you). Quite literally your pain, is his pain and he’s here to be with you through each step. No judgment is ever passed when he has to pick up your extra chores around the house. Because to him, that is the smallest act of service he can perform for you. San is the one who wishes he could take on your pain, that he could fight it and destroy it and it pains him that he cannot. So he will simply have to do everything else.

Mingi

He thrives on making you laugh and smile through tough days, because he understands feeling burdensome. Mingi never wants you to feel that way, he wants to make sure you verbally know that your presence is needed and welcome. His favorite thing is cuddled up in bed with you wrapped in your heated blanket watching shows. You looking so small in his arms, giving him the feeling of protecting something. He reassures you constantly, because he himself seeks constant reassurance. Mingi never tires of this, he will reaffirm every single self deprecating thought with a compliment even on his worst days.

Wooyoung 

He cares for you with his skinship, which is incredibly healing. His happy heartbeat encourages yours. His strong hands make you feel loved and needed. Who would cuddle him if not you? Woo often reminds you, whispering the phrase into your ear as he traces his nails through your hair, or while rhythmically drawing circles on your spine. Making you float into dream land and anchoring you in the moment with him at the same time. Woo also loves making you whatever dish you’re craving, knowing you need energy to fight off fatigue and pain. And cooking is one of his many, many love languages.

Jongho

Needing to hoard all the extra rest you can get; you seek out solace at Jongho’s place for nap time. Jongho has taken notice, he’s also taken inventory as to which blankets of his you prefer, the pillows that keep you asleep the longest, what temperature you prefer the room to be based on what you’re wearing. All your favorite snacks before or after. New blackout curtains. He’s made his place your ultimate nap zone. New heated blankets. Duplicates of your fave lounge wear and socks. And he takes his payment in cuddles. Holding you tightly in his bed or sprawled on the couch. Sometimes he falls asleep himself and flips you onto your back to bury into your side like a full-sized teddy bear.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[steddieas-shegoes]

I have a request: Steve has emetophobia, but also suffers from chronic migraines that are almost always accompanied by nausea and vomiting. Eddie helps support and soothe Steve through a really bad migraine attack.

(As someone who has both emetophobia and chronic migraines, it is a hell combination.)

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF READING EVEN A LITTLE BIT ABOUT VOMITING OR NAUSEA BOTHERS YOU! I am also a migraine sufferer, and as much as I hate throwing up, I wouldn't put myself in the emetophobia category. I don't go into extreme detail, but it would definitely be enough for someone who is sensitive to even the discussion of it to be bothered by it. There's a lot of comfort in this fic, so hopefully that makes up for it all. Eddie is such a good caretaker for Steve. I hope you love! - Mickala ❤️

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Sometimes, Steve gets warning signs before a migraine: light and sound sensitivity, a dull ache in his neck and jaw, blurry vision.

But sometimes, they come out of nowhere. He’ll be perfectly fine, and then he’ll be doubled over in so much pain he can barely breathe.

The doctors said that it’s normal for cases of head trauma like his, that there’s not much that can be done except keep pain medication on hand, that this could get worse as he gets older.

But the pain is better than the accompanying nausea.

Nothing makes that better. In fact, sometimes his meds or laying down make it worse.

He hates throwing up. The moment he gets that fluttery feeling in his stomach and his mouth starts to build up too much saliva, he’s ready to beg for someone to sedate him so he doesn’t have to throw up.

Once he does the five or six swallows in a row, he knows it’s game over.

His heart starts racing, his whole body breaks into an instant sweat, and he feels his legs go numb.

He usually makes it to the bathroom just in time, but he’s had instances where it all came on so quickly he had to get to the kitchen sink or the trash can, or one time, the floor of the hall.

He hates the way it feels so much, losing control of his body even temporarily while it expels whatever he’d dared eat or drink, he’s become genuinely afraid of it happening.

So when a migraine hits him out of nowhere while he’s cooking dinner for the Hellfire Club meeting in his dining room, he just knows he’s in for it.

He’d been lucky for the last three weeks, not even a hint of a headache to be felt. The sharp pulse of the sudden onset migraine made him nearly buckle at the knees at the counter where he was cutting up vegetables that he was hiding in the sauce for the kids.

He held back as much of a whimper as he could, but the second pulse of pain coursed through his head, down his neck, into his shoulders, and he couldn’t keep quiet.

He heard the group in the other room get quiet, and then heavy footsteps, Eddie’s boots, on the floor.

“Steve? What happened? Did you cut yourself?” Eddie asked from the doorway.

Steve couldn’t quite answer, his eyes squeezed shut and his whole weight against the counter in front of him, all focus he had going to not screaming out in pain.

“Jesus. Okay.” Eddie must have realized what was happening. He hit the main light switch off, only the stove light remaining on. He walked over to Steve and gently wrapped an arm around his middle, shifting him away from the counter so he could lean against him. “C’mon Stevie. Let me get you to your room.”

“Can’t,” Steve managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Okay. Um. Okay. How about I carry you?”

Steve and Eddie both knew he couldn’t carry him upstairs. To the other room, maybe, but Eddie wasn’t built with the type of muscles it would take to get them both up the staircase.

“Okay, you’re right.” Steve hadn’t even said anything, but Eddie must have realized how crazy that sounded. “I’ll carry you to the stairs, then we’ll make our way up slowly, and then I can carry you the rest of the way.”

That didn’t sound impossible, but Steve knew the moment he was jostled, he’d start dry heaving.

He could feel the way his stomach was turning, the heat of the zing of pain in his belly making him wish he could pass out before he vomited.

He tried to get Eddie to stop moving him, maybe if he stood still for a minute, he could mentally convince the nausea to go away.

He couldn’t speak, though, and it was already too late.

One, two, three, four, five swallows.

He started gagging before he could even warn Eddie.

“Shit. It’s okay, sweetheart. Take in a deep breath, hold it, then let it back out.” Eddie was doing his best to get him over the sink or the trash can before anything came out, but he was already dead weight against him and could feel his body heaving. “Alright, let it out, I’ll clean it up after.”

Steve was crying silently, his body curling over the sink that he’d just put a few dirty dishes into, his mouth drooling the excess spit out.

Eddie’s left hand was rubbing his back and his right was pushing his bangs off his face so he could feel the cool air against his forehead.

It still didn’t help.

Steve was throwing up into the sink, tears streaming down his face, his stomach clenching every time he tried to catch his breath.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. It’ll be over in a minute,” Eddie was saying quietly next to him.

It felt like time dragged on, and the smell and sight of everything was making it worse.

Eddie was doing his best to run water to rinse the sink, but it wasn’t enough, and Steve kept thinking about how he would have to touch it to get it all out.

“Is Steve okay?” he overheard Dustin ask quietly from the door.

“Yeah, bud. Just got hit with a migraine. Can you call Nancy and see if she can bring you all home?”

Steve didn’t know what Dustin responded with, but he assumed he agreed because Eddie turned all of his attention back to him.

Steve’s stomach rolled again, another set of smaller, almost dry heaves making fresh tears roll down his cheeks as he tried to reach a shaking hand over to cover Eddie’s hand on his hip.

He felt weak, which was almost worse than everything else. Being unable to hold himself up, or walk, or even talk was terrifying to him.

“Hate this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, rough from heaving for the last three minutes.

“I know, sugar. Do you think you’re done?”

It was hard to know. Sometimes, it was one and done and he just had to ride out the migraine in bed for however long it took to go away. Sometimes, he’d be heaving into a toilet off and on for hours. The nausea usually didn’t go away either way.

Eddie didn’t wait for a response; he knew Steve didn’t know for sure.

“Let’s get you in bed,” he said as he used a wet paper towel to wipe Steve’s face. “Might be better if you aren’t standing.”

Logically, yeah. But physically, if Steve had to go up the stairs right now, he would probably end up worse off.

“Bath?”

“You want a bath down here?”

“Mm.”

It would be much easier, and keeps him close to a toilet just in case he has to throw up again. Plus, Eddie would wash his hair to help him relax and he needed that.

“Mkay, love. Let’s get you in the bath, then,” Eddie kissed his temple, letting his lips linger for a few seconds.

He slowly moved Steve down the hall, towards the only bathroom on the ground floor, designed for guests and remodeled in the last year to be a haven for any of the kids who stayed over with him.

He’d made it a stipulation when his parents signed the house over into his name, that they paid for the bottom floor bathroom and guest room to be made over completely. They felt just bad enough about leaving him in a desolate town that they agreed.

Eddie went through filling the tub, stripping Steve, and pouring the peppermint oil that helped Steve’s migraine and his nausea into the water.

He helped Steve get in, his legs shaking like a newborn calf standing for the first time, and made sure he got settled all the way back.

“Let me get you some water and make sure the kids are getting picked up. Yell if you need me, I’ll come running.”

“I know.”

He always did.

The moment Steve needed him, didn’t matter what time of night or day, or what they were doing, or where they were, if Steve needed him, Eddie would come.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, the peppermint cleansing his nose of the vomit smell from before.

He couldn’t hear anyone, but he knew they would all be doing their best to keep quiet since he had a migraine.

They were good kids.

And Gareth, who apparently had a secret crush on Steve for a while and only got over it when he met a girl at one of their shows, and wouldn’t dream of disrupting him.

He let his mind slow, the nausea mostly going away for now, but the sharp pain of his head keeping him from being able to fully relax.

He felt hands on his shoulders soon enough, guiding him forward so Eddie could slide in behind him.He loved this bath for this exact reason: being able to comfortably rest against Eddie’s front.

“Any better?” Eddie whispered, his breath fluffing Steve’s hair.

“Tiny bit.”

“Want me to wash your hair?”

“Soon.”

He just wanted to relax for a few minutes, enjoy the hot water keeping him warm, his boyfriend’s hands gliding across his chest and arms to keep him safe.

“Tell me when you’re ready, love.”

“Stay forever.”

Words were hard when he had a migraine. Everyone, especially Eddie, was used to the broken words and barely-there sentences.

That was a hell of a sentence to get out though.

“Not going anywhere, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me forever.”

“Mm.”

Eddie kissed his shoulder when he turned his head to rest it further against Eddie’s shoulder.

Eventually, he knew he needed to get out, or he’d end up falling asleep and Eddie wouldn’t be able to get him out of there easily once that happened.

“Wash?”

“You got it.”

Eddie was so careful, his fingers gently gliding through the ends and scratching his scalp softly. He applied just enough pressure along his hairline for Steve to feel temporary relief, the intense pain turning to a dull pulsing sensation while he worked.

“Lean back to rinse, I’ll hold you,” Eddie slowly guided him back and down into the water, one hand on his back to hold him steady, another running through his hair to get the bubbles out.

“All set, sweetheart.”

Eddie got out first, wrapped a towel around his waist, and then helped Steve out. He wrapped a towel around Steve’s waist, and another one around his shoulders to keep him warm. He kicked his foot out to drain the tub, and then let Steve rest his head on his shoulder while they walked to his room upstairs.

Eddie threw on a pair of boxers, ignoring the fact that he was still a little damp. He started slowly drying Steve off, patting along his skin as slowly as he could get away with without Steve getting too cold.

“No clothes.”

Sometimes, migraines made every touch of something against his skin unbearable. It was rare, but it made even his softest and comfiest clothes feel like sandpaper.

“You’ll get cold,” Eddie reminded him.

“Got you.”

Eddie sighed, but gave in. He’d try to bundle him up in a blanket once he was asleep so he didn’t catch a cold.

He helped Steve get into bed, and quickly got in next to him so he could cuddle into his side, using his arm to block out any light from the lamp in the corner.

He hated darkness, but the migraines made it nearly impossible to keep lights on. They’d finally found a lamp that had a dim orange glow, and it was known as his migraine mood lighting.

Steve lay naked in the bed, the cool sheets under him providing some relief, his body curling into Eddie’s side.

Eddie placed a hand on his head, just a light pressure to let him know he was there.

“Got me?”

“Got you, love. Always. Just go to sleep. It’ll be better when you wake up.”

Eddie couldn’t quite kiss him, not at the angle they were laying, but he felt him pull his hand away for a moment, heard him kiss his palm, then place his hand back on his head.

He sighed contentedly, or at least as content as one can be with a migraine, and let himself fall asleep. If things got bad again, Eddie would be there.

[eunchancorner]

AU Mashup thing part 2

Tadaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I'll give it a real name eventually

-

Henry’s eyes opened slowly, his whole body numb and his thoughts slow and cloudy. He was laying on his back, facing a tiled ceiling, and as he managed to look around, he quickly realized he was in the infirmary. Charles sat next to his bed, as if he’d been waiting a while. Upon realizing Henry was awake, he leaned closer.

“Henry, hey, are you okay? You’ve been out a long time…” he asked cautiously. “Me and Ellie got really worried there, we came in and Sven and Burt were both out cold, and you were following pretty fast. Was it the serum? I knew this experiment was a bad idea. Y’know, Reginald’s pissed. He said he’d kill you if it didn’t get him killed, so I’d start checking your food to be extra sure-”

“Wait… why is Reginald mad…?”

“Oh, shoot, you don’t know yet, right, uh… I-I’ll uhm… I’ll explain when you’re not full of painkillers, okay?”

“Charles Calvin. Why is Reginald angry…?”

The head of the aerial assault unit took a deep breath, as though figuring out how to word it.

“So… those serums of yours might have had some side effects… You three did gain more muscle mass, especially in your limbs… but you also gained some… other things… In the scientists’ defense, it’s easy to overlook what having dog DNA in someone might do…”

“Please… for the love of god… tell me it’s not one of those ‘gained animals features’ tropes… those barely even work on TV…”

Charles’s silence was almost deafening.

Henry let out a labored groan, looking back up at the ceiling.

“So… yeah, Reginald is now mad because he can’t see his own son without having to stock up on allergy meds. He… kinda blames you for this, which, I don’t blame him. You gave the ok on this experiment and dragged Sven into it. Ellie also thinks you’re an idiot, but she’s also just glad you’re alive,” the other continued to ramble, a sound that Henry couldn’t deny helped him feel a little better. Something about Charles’s yapping was just so soothing to him.

“So… I guess… what breed of dog do you think I got…?” he eventually cut in with a small smile.

“Well, it’s too early to tell. Everything is still forming, which is why you’re on painkillers to begin with, but it’s shaping up to look like you’re gonna be something pointy-eared. I’m thinking maybe like a husky or something? The medteam could probably take a blood sample and find the exact breed.”

“Have ‘em do that while I’m still high as a kite, okay…?” the leader requested. “... wait, why am I on painkillers…?”

“Well, you guys passed out from the pain. The doctors said it’s basically like… your bodies couldn’t take it, so it was like, a force-shutdown? Apparently the average human body can’t really handle your skull shifting where your ears go and your spine just straight up lengthening.”

“So that’s why Sven went down first…” Henry managed with a quiet chuckle. “Surprised they weren’t worried about the painkillers reacting with the serums…”

“Oh, no, they were. Ellie kinda… forced them to give them to you guys. Especially you. What can I say, she’s a protective friend, I guess.”

“Heh, of course she did…”

“Do you think you might start acting more dog-like, too? Like, becoming clingier and more affectionate and stuff? Or more protective?”

“We’ll see… I’m just glad it did give us more muscle… so maybe we’ll be stronger… or faster… or both…”

“Maybe next time you try to make a super-soldier, try less animal DNA, more… I dunno, steroids or something. I have no idea what you put in these things, I’m not a scientist.”

“I dunno either… I just approved the stupid experiment…”

“Hm… Well, we’ll see what happens, maybe this is actually the perfect mix, it’s just gotta… settle, I guess? The doctors said that at this rate, you should be ready to come off the painkillers by tomorrow. Ellie’s taken over in your place, by the way. She’ll probably stay there until you’ve actually fully recovered.”

“Once I’m out of here, I will absolutely take back over…”

“What? No, Henry, you’re gonna have to learn to live with this… weird… shit you did to yourself, first!”

“Toppats need a leader… That’s my job… As soon as I am out of here, I’m leading again…”

“Yeah, how about you see what happens when you try to do something dumb like that. I’ll give you a hint; I’ll take the consequences into my own hands.”

Henry went silent at the threat, before sighing.

“You won’t hurt me. I know that…”

“Yeah, you’re completely correct. But I’ll still make you regret it.”

“Heh, we’ll see about that… Mind letting me sleep now?”

Charles crossed his arms, feigning an offended look, though he was unable to force down a smile.

“Fine then, I’ll go and let his highness sleep!” he huffed as he stood, earning a short chuckle from Henry.

“I didn’t say ‘go’, I just want a bit of quiet… please…? I like having you here…”

“I know, I know…” the pilot conceded as he sat back down. “I’ll be here, don’t worry.”

With that, Henry let himself relax again, almost immediately slipping back into the warm embrace of sleep.

[bamgyw]

i’m so sorry for this rant in advance😭. for a little backstory i’m 20 and i’ve been with my boyfriend since i was 15. he is pretty much perfect. he is supportive of my passions, he is understanding, he is sweet, and we have sooo much in common. lately ive been feeling extra lost and down due to (most likely) going off of anti depressants that i have also been on for 5 years. i feel very confused about who i am and also have been disassociating which is something ive never experienced before. ugh im so sorry this is getting so deep😭. i really do love him but im just so confused on if i’m IN love with him anymore. i mean we try to be intimate but the past few years due to body changes and stuff it’s really hard for me to find pleasure in it. when i read fictional things i definitely enjoy that (thanks father rey🫡) but it’s so hard when it’s actually real life. in the past i’ve also become like infatuated or had “crushes” on other people during our relationship but obviously of course never acted EVER on these feelings. when i would look things up people would say these things are normal so i would try not to dwell on it. but right now there is nobody that i have feelings for (at least that’s real or someone i know) yet i still feel distant from my boyfriend. our lives are so intertwined in literally every aspect and we have so many memories together. i can’t possibly imagine my life without him and it scares me thinking of a future where he isn’t the one that i’m with. life would be so different than what it has been and he is my best friend as well. the thought of us not being together devastates me. even with all of these things i can’t help but imagine my life sometimes if i were to be with other people or just be single and move some where across the world and live all of these unrealistic dreams that i have. sometimes i feel like i’m settling. not because he isn’t good enough but because it’s the exact opposite. he is too good and deserves all the love in the world. i want to be in love with him so badly. i just don’t know if i am anymore. like are these fleeting feelings that will go away or is this just my mental illness speaking?? i don’t know anything anymore. all that i know if that I actually just don’t know anything at all anymore. everything hurts so much. being an infp on top of this makes it so much worse😩. i’m not even expecting you to know an answer to this of course but i haven’t even told anyone in my life the way i’ve been feeling. i’m scared that if i say it out loud things will change. i just hurt so much every single day and this has been going on for over a month now. somehow it feels like an eternity though. thank you for taking the time to even read or respond to this😭❤️

well first off, breathe and take this virtual kiss on your forehead. mwah. this is painfully complex, which makes it very human, too. and that is good. it means we're alive and functioning. i promise that all this hurt won't last forever. it never does. we got this !!

i'm sorry for taking so long to reply to you :(, i wanted my thoughts to be somewhat meditated so i could make sense and be as helpful as humanly possible.

also, please don't apologise. you all keep apologising when you think you're bothering me or annoying me or sending asks too long WHICH IS NEVER TRUE so yeah, there's none of that in reyville. we're all really cool no matter what.

and if only the act of sharing this has been useful in the slightest, even just for the relief value of venting, then it was more than worth it and i'm really glad you did !!

first thing is the going off meds. antidepressants are bitch. i don't know which ones you were taking specifically, but usually what they do is numb you out instead of taking away your pain, right? they don't make you feel less shitty, just limit your ability to feel at all. which is fucked up, because the day you stop taking them all the pain comes to you at once. and you don't know what to do with yourself and you feel miserable and you don't even know why.

so. i'm no one and i know nothing. still. i am your friend from the internet, which is a sacred bestie bond, so i'm gonna try to be as honest as i possibly can.

but ultimately you're the person who knows yourself the best (you're literally you), so the wisest and most valuable opinion is always your own, which is fucking scary because freedom is a prison. but you're cool and i trust you, so.

so (and again, i'm not a psychiatrist i'm a rando on the internet), i think you're right when you say that going off the meds might be a reason why you're in so much pain. you need to be patient and allow your brain some time to balance the chemicals and get used to working on its own.

but beyond that, you're feeling shitty and lost, which absolutely fucking sucks. your pain is here and widespread and tangible and so we need to cope with that now !!

when you talk about that inability to feel pleasure, again, mental illness is literally crippling. so you shouldn't press yourself about not being able to enjoy getting intimate with your boyfriend. just take your time and get comfortable with yourself first.

and don't get the concepts of love and attraction confused !! you struggling a little to get turned on does absolutely not mean that you love him any less. asexual people exist, and they date and get married !!

love comes in so many different ways, even within one person. so don't be scared because things aren't as they used to. even if you were feeling great emotionally, things like this happen all the time and it's alright !! your libido might not always be on the high, and so what? and with all that's going on inside your head, it's understandable that you can't enjoy getting intimate.

i feel like i can't advise you to tell your boyfriend about this because i don't really know him and i don't know how he would react. but you do know him !! so if you trust him and you think it's safe, in time and whenever you're comfortable, talk to him. your mental health is your right and duty, but this involves him as well, so maybe he deserves to know. (and he definitely will be able to help you. more than me, at least).

the precise point of it being not real is that there is no risk, nothing to lose. you're allowed to be at your most open and comfortable. that's why fic writing is often brought up in conversations about feminist sexual liberation, because in real life there are little to none safe spaces for girls. so they, we (assuming that you share this experience) wouldn't get a chance to explore our sexuality were it not for fiction. (i rambled i'm sorry).

still, i don't think your libido is entirely broken? you mentioned only getting turned on by fiction, but that's literally so common. if it weren't, the idol industry would totally crumble.

it's pretty simple, in fiction there's no danger to the relationship, no actual commitment and no threat of failure. it's not real, it has no effect in your life. so all those worries that clog up your brain in real life and that paralyse you—do i still love him, do i love him like he deserves, what would i do without him— those ugly but very necessary parts of a relationship are just gone.

that's the beauty of literature of any genre, it's a chance to try and fail without real consequences. an exploration.

but it can also be a great source of dissatisfaction, when real life feels dull and not enough. there's a beauty to that dullness too, though sometimes it is a little harder to see. that's where the deep bond with your boyfriend comes to play.

there's the line (this is stupid, sorry, it just reminded me of it) in the intro to the new ariana grande album. "how can i tell if i'm in the right relationship? aren't you really supposed to know that shit? feel it in your bones and own that shit?"

you mentioned he's your best friend, and i think that's so cherishable. personally, i value having someone to share life with so much, (i'm terrified of being alone, and now i'm supposed to insert some lame joke to make it goofy) but i also understand that great fear of not being satisfied in that kind of traditional, unbreakable concept of relationship.

i think fear of commitment is so much deeper than people usually make it out to be. he's perfect, but is he perfect for me? no one is ever gonna make me feel this safe and loved, but also, why does it feel like it's not enough? it fucking sucks.

but there's so many external things that can be triggering all those thoughts. things neither you nor your boyfriend can control.

there's the antidepressants. there's the fact that you've been with your boyfriend since you were fifteen?? that's so fucking young, you were babies !! you don't know how to live a life without your boyfriend because you practically never have. there's the combination of everything that just results in that anxiety storm which might also be causing you to wanna run away and live a completely different life !!

whatever you do, just remember that there's no such thing as a bad choice. you have a right to be curious and want to explore other ways of life, and you also have a right to look for stability with your boyfriend. they're both scary, and there's a lot of pondering to do. but i believe in you !!

your boyfriend is so important, and he deserves all the best. but the best is almost never pretending that everything's going fine so that he doesn't get upset. loving him like he deserves might mean talking to him earnestly about everything you're feeling, or even a sincere break up.

and please don't take this as me encouraging you to break up with him. only you know if that's the right choice. i just want you to walk without guilt into whatever path you think it's the right one.

as you think about all this, love yourself a lot. that'll make everything easier. (cliché but true) you need integrity and a lot of self-respect to make the best possible decisions, for you and for everyone you love.

please try to not get anxious. to keep your head a little cold and your heart calm. if not, your fears will turn into these irrational bloodthirsty monsters and every decision will feel like it's life or death. it's not, it's gonna be okay.

talk to yourself as you would talk to dear friend, be supportive of yourself. sometimes it even helps to put yourself in a third person pov and think about your problems as if they were happening to a character !! (again, the holy power of story).

and don't hesitate to send in as many asks as you need and talk to me about anything !!

i hope i didn't make too many stupid points during this long ass speech, and i hope i didn't tell you too many things you already knew. i really want you to feel better, and i trust that you will.

be strong !! a hundred thousand kisses.

[doodling-doodle]

A Modern Great War (PT.17)

All he could feel was panic. What the fuck happened to his Kyle, everything was supposed to be fine!

He felt like he would fucking pass out, or have a panic attack, or something.

But he needed to stay strong

Kyle needed him

Alex panicked, shaking Kyle a little. He was awake, just weak and whimpering.

“We’re going to the med bay, it’s okay.” he said, wrapping the blanket around Kyle to run out of there, whispering words of love.

The doctors ran a few tests but they didn’t know what was wrong.

Kyle weakly looked up at Alex, who was still quietly panicking.

“Your lucky i managed to get out before it closed.”

He froze up, looking over.

It was Maxis.

“Maxis…” 

“Nice to finally meet you.”

He looked back down, and Kyle, still weak, tried to speak.

“Don’t. You’ll make it worse.” She said, walking up to him, “If it was open, I could help… but now that its closed, all you can do is wait.”

He whimpered, nodding slightly, still holding Alex’s hand.

He was still panicking, looking at Maxis with fear in his eyes, “How long will it take?”

“Give it three days… I’m sure that it’ll be okay by then…”

He nodded, looking down at Kyle, “Do… do you need anything? Blankets? Water?” 

He shook his head, but looked at him with longing eyes, making it clear.

Alex carefully laid down in the bed with him, holding him tight, rolling him over to hold him, “I’m here. I’m here, darling.”

Maxis looked down, holding Kyle’s hand, “You’ll be alright. It shouldn’t be painful, just… numbing.”

He nodded, closing his eyes and burying his face in Alex’s chest.

He fell asleep, and Alex heard the door open, and Price and Graves ran in with Rose, who jumped up on the bed, curling up at their feet.

“Kyle… What happened?” Price asked.

Maxis explained it, and Price was pissed.

“What do you mean you can’t help him?!”

“The Dark Aether is closed. I can’t do anything without a place to transfer the energy.”

“You have to do something, you- you lied, you did something to him, didn’t you–"

“Captain, I’m going to remind you that I am the only one here that knows whats happening to him. Do you think its a good idea to threaten me? To harm me? To kill me?”

He blinked, and sighed, sitting down with his head in his hands.

Graves slowly went up to Kyle, and Alex resisted glaring at him, shoving him away. He let him touch Kyle, let him stroke his cheek, internally screaming and crying.

“Kyle…”

He sobbed, and covered his face, shaking his head, “Kyle… no…”

Maxis sighed, “I don’t think he’s in pain. He’ll just be numb and exhausted for a few days…"

They all nodded, but Alex just fell asleep, exhausted from the day and his silent crying…

He woke up early the next day. He sighed, seeing Kyle's face still asleep. He didn't look peaceful like he normally did when he was asleep. He looked weak. Exhausted. 

He sighed, and he sat up, kissing Kyle's forehead as he did, seeing some food on the side table with a note

"Try and get him to eat a little. But take care of yourself. -Price"

He would try, but- Kyle was hurt, how could he pay attention to himself when Kyle was hurt?!

He sighed, shaking Kyle awake gently, and he slowly opened his eyes, whimpering.

“Baby… I’m making you eat a little, okay?”

Kyle weakly nodded, and Alex pulled him to be sitting up. His eyes were half closed, he was weak.

Alex held back tears, pulling Kyle close, and kissing his temple. 

He only managed to get Kyle to take a few bites. But it was something…

He ate a little too, but, still, not a lot.

Price came in after a while with food for Rose, seeing Kyle near asleep and Alex close to tears.

He sighed, going up to them, "did you two eat?"

"Not a lot." Alex replied, seeing Rose jump off the bed to eat.

He nodded, "just try and eat as much as you can and get food in his system. He just… doesn't look good."

Alex nodded, and he looked down at Kyle, kissing his head, sighing. He wasn't going to move until Kyle could.

Price sat down next to the bed, just looking at Kyle, who glanced at him, trying to smile.

"It's alright, son." Price said softly, "I know. You've done good. I didn't get the chance to tell you, but I'm proud of you. You did amazing. You saved us. We were so worried… but you saved us. You made pops and I so proud… you'll pull through. I promise."

Kyle made some type of nodding, and Price smiled softly. “I will get you two on leave after this… probably all of us. We need it.”

Alex nodded at that. All he wanted was for Kyle to be okay right now. He wanted to take eveything away from Kyle. He wanted him to be happy. And right now, he was weak, miserable.

And he couldn’t do anything about it. 

For now, at least. All he could do was wait. And hold him.

The next day

Alex hadn’t slept much. He was able to eat a little more, and got a little food in Kyle, but he was a little better.

Price came back to check on them, seeing them cuddled up under a blanket and Alex petting Rose.

“You ate, right?”

“We did.” Alex said, not looking away from Kyle.

“Anything more then yesterday?”

“Not really.”

He sighed, going up to the bed to stroke Kyle’s cheek. He whimpered, but looked up at him. Better then the day before.

“It’s alright, son.” price said, “Don’t worry. Maxis left. She said that it would take… two days for you to be back… So, you shoud be better tomorrow.”

Kyle nodded, and both Alex and Price smiled.

“There you are, baby doll.” Alex said, cupping his cheek.

Kyle’s eyes closed again, and Alex sighed, kissing his forehead, “I’m here. I promise, I’ll be here. The whole time.”

Kyle was already back asleep. 

Price sighed, gently stroking Kyle’s hair, noticing how Alex just closed his eyes, pulling Kyle close. He knew he didn’t want anyone to touch his Kyle. his precious Kyle… 

He pulled away, not wanting to tempt an overprotective Alex, and he just gently squeezed Kyle’s hand.

He noticed Alex had fallen back asleep. He walked back out, refilling Rose’s food and water bowls.

The next day…

Alex woke up to a small, weak, raspy whisper.

“Al…?”

His eyes shot open, and he saw Kyle with his eyes half-open, still purple, but fading.

“Kyle… baby doll…” He gently held Kyle’s face, and he reached his hand up to keep Alex’s there.

Alex smiled tearfully, “progress. How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright… a lot of pins and needles. Starving.”

Alex nodded, “I’ll get some food in you, just hold on.” He reached over to the table where Price had left food for them. 

Alex still had to feed him, but, at least he had energy and could move now.

Kyle managed to eat a little more, so, that was a plus too.

After that, he started to move Kyle’s limbs around, trying to get his blood moving. He winced in pain a few times, but seemed okay.

“Better?” Alex asked.

Kyle nodded, “my throat hurts… But i’m alright. Achy.” 

Alex nodded, grabbing the waterbottle and handing it to Kyle for him to suck down.

“Thank you…” Kyle whispered.

“Its no problem, my love. I’m just glad your back.”

He gently kissed Kyle’s forehead, smiling down at him, “You look beautiful with purple eyes.” He said, stroking Kyle’s cheek gently, seeing him smile and blush.

“Better then my normal eyes?”

“No. nothing will be better then those eyes.”

Kyle smiled more, “I… I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Where’s Rose?”

He looked at the foot of the bed, seeing she wasn’t there. But graves walked in with her, leash on his belt.

He froze when he saw Kyle sitting up, smiling at him.

“Kyle…?”

“Hey, pops…”

He smiled, tearing up but running up to him, holding him tight.

“I was so worried about you!” Graves said, holding onto Kyle, cupping his face, “i didn’t know what was going to happen to you! I… I was so scared.”

“I’m okay- Really. Weak, achy… but okay…”

Graves nodded, smiling and pulling Kyle into his arms.

“I’m so glad your okay, Bud…”

“I’m glad that your all okay… I…”

“Don’t blame yourself. It’s okay, bud, I promise. It’s okay.”

Kyle smiled, letting himself go limp against Phil’s shoulder.

“There. That’s better.” He looked over at Alex, gesturing him to come over to them, which he did, wrapping his arms around Kyle.

“I guess my powers are gone now…” Kyle whispered.

“Shame, that was badass.” Alex said, stoking his cheek, “I’ll miss it.”

Kyle smiled, leaning back on Alex while Rose jumped up on the bed, curling up on Kyle’s lap.

“Where’s dad?” He asked Phil

“Paperwork. He’ll be here soon, I promise. He just needed to get it done.”

He nodded, trying to keep his eyes open.

Price came in about ten minutes later, and he also froze before running up to hug him.

“Hey dad…”

“I’m so happy that your okay.” 

Graves smiled, pulling both of them close while Price gently kissed Kyle’s forehead.

“I missed you, son.”

“I missed you, too, dad… I missed you all… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Your the reason we’re still alive. We didn’t know what we we’re doing. You saved us.”

Kyle smiled, finally closing his eyes and falling back asleep.

Alex laid him back down, kissing his forehead, “Good night, baby.”

“The good thing is, he’s getting his energy back.” Price said, “Lets hope he can move around tomorrow.”

And he did…

---

@lvndr-swtr

[dead-dove-doesnt-eat]

Do you have an active ED and an attention disorder?

Let me put you on something (medication) (it sucks)

Like many people with ADHD or ADD, I’ve been on adderall, Dexedrine, Ritilin, focalin, you name it. Here’s he one that worked for me

I started Vyvanse about 2 ish years ago when I was 17, and it has WAY way way more cons than pros, but the pros pay off and It’s what works for me. And while it might not work for everyone, I figured I’d share what I know

Disclaimer: this is an over the counter prescription drug. I am not encouraging getting this drug illegally or using it recreationally but also idc what you do

CONS (based on my personal experience an limited research)

Because It’s a known appetite suppressant, you may have a hard time getting it if you are already underweight or have ED anywhere in your records.

Random panic. I can just be sitting there and get shaky and can feel my heartbeat super fast, and overall I just sweat more when I’m on it.

I focus on whatever I’m doing. Not just school or work. I have a midterm due next week that I haven’t started, and I’m doing research for this post instead. This happens most of the time

I scratch myself till i bleed, and I pick at every imperfection on my face and body and scalp for hours on end without breaking concentration.

When I first started taking it I got panic attacks pretty often, but that went away as I got used to it. But it doesn’t go away if you aren’t consistent with taking it every day.

It gave me a couple of motor tics, which mostly faded away after about a year and a half of taking it.

I know the point of reading this for most people is to suppress appetite, but sometimes I just don’t notice that I haven’t eaten for a long time, and I get super super hangry without actually feeling hungry, so I just get frustrated.

Unlike other adhd medications that are more “take it when you need it” It has to be taken every morning to work best

You can’t sleep when it’s active. Its designed to keep you alert and focused for about 12 hours, but in my experience it fully wears off about 15 or 16 hours in. If I forget to take it in the morning I skip it for that day otherwise I won’t be able to fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning, and will be tossing and turning all night

^Seriously. Idc how sleepy of a person you think you are, it fucks up your sleep. Other people who take vyvanse have expressed this as well

It changes your personality. It changes who you like, how you think, how you act, and how you feel. It numbs me out big time

I had to get used to actively remembering to drink water

But also your mouth is always dry

I grind my teeth a ton and started biting my nails again

Random depression

I swear I’m like 70% less funny and socially aware when I take it

Everything around me is serious and I have a generally less fun than when I’m on it

PROS

Many doctors prefer it over adderall since it’s not as well known, isn’t a good high, and doesn’t have as much of a risk of being sold and abused

I can actually fucking focus when I take it it’s crazy

It’s used for treating binge eating disorder

Unlike other focus meds, it lasts all day. It’s working during class, it’s working at the gym, and it’s still working just as well at the end of the day so I can do my homework.

It just makes you flat out, not hungry all day

Like I don’t even think about food

Makes you less impulsive

I’m never bored when I take it. Idk if that makes sense but I used to get bored of video games and drawing and stuff and now I just don’t

It makes me motivated to do stuff idk

Gave me lots of pent up energy I used for working out

It gives you laser eyes and all the cool kids do it

Anyways that’s just my personal experience with it, if you have anything to add from being on it or something similar PLEASE do so

it’s cool and evil, and I love/hate it a lot.

[daisies-and-depression]

11/12/2024

It’s been a minute. hopped up on anti anxiety meds, I want to write. I want to warn. I want to let my thoughts out of my head, to roam freely. I want normality, I’ve never known her; normality, how does one find her? 2024 is coming to a close and it’s safe to say that this year, has been the worst year of my life. just when you think you’re strong enough, life takes someone out of your story with snap of a finger. life is fucking cunt. I lost my papa in July. I keep going back and forth knowing he’s in heaven and being content with that but then my mind wanders, is there a heaven? I honestly don’t even fucking care anymore. I’ve learned a bit this year about people, ha, people people people, unless you’re related to a person, you truly cannot trust another human. humans are cruel, mean, liars, takers! I decided to let it go, I don’t go reach for “people” anymore, I reach for a stronger version of myself, becos people ain’t gonna do shit for ya! And yknow, I’m not that much stronger - I’ve reached down into myself and I find nothing - a heart, solely beating so to keep me alive, a brain, just to process daily duties, not thoughts or emotions, a pair of lungs, keeping me breathing but just that. I am my body, I am my body without emotions. I am my body without care. I am my body without expectations. and yet, after a 35ish minute anxiety attack, I lay alone in my bed, my mother here when it started, leapt out when she found a chance. A father who has to take control of the reigns via iMessage becos he’s working. I’ve come to the conclusion, that, at some point in your life, you get to a point where you don’t need your parents anymore, for anything… that, I will never know; I need my parents for everything, to help with the debilitating pain of depression and anxiety, I need something that you can’t find in a pharmacy though, I need love. I need love from my family. I don’t get much love from my family. every time I call myself a burden, they always flock to my side with their coo’s of “oh no no no” but when I’m mid anxiety attack, can’t talk can’t walk, and my mother is in another room where she can clearly hear me, radio static. I’m tired. I’m tired of being the “stay here on earth with us and be happy” when in reality, I’m more so the fucked up cousin on anti psychotics, who has been suffering with depression since she was 9. I’M SO FUCKING TIRED OF BEING THAT PERSON - I’M SO FUCKING SICK OF HURTING MYSELF ON THE OUTSIDE TO KILL WHATS ON THE INSIDE - I DESERVE TO SCREAM AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS, “KILL ME” - I DESERVE DEATH - I WANT DEATH - I NEED IT, I AM A BURDEN TO MYSELF AND EVERYONE AROUND ME!!!

I wish I still had blades. I wish I could be true to what I tell my therapist whom I absolutely love - I want to die, I do. becos nobody in this world hates me like I do. becos I know my weakness lays inside of a craft store on aisle 8, “sewing blades” - I want it back. I want my life back. I want to be young again and feel like I have forever.

But, forever came and went. she never stayed long enough for me to get used to. So I sit, and I play “content” I play “meek” and “unbothered” but I’m not content, fuck being meek and I am indeed, bothered.

I want to take that clean ass beautiful blade, press hard enough onto my arm and drag slowly, letting out whimpers of what my depression sounds like from the inside. muffled sobs as that thick stream of blood streams down my arm. the feeling, ugh the feeling of feeling nothing, numbness, yet the feeling of, it hurts so good. I want back MY coping skills - if you want me to stay here on earth, let me do what I need to be okay, you are not my body, you are not my mind, so you do not get to tell me “don’t hurt yourself” eff off “that’s a short term coping skill” fuck you “you don’t need to cut” YES THE FUCK I DO!

YES! THE! FUCK! I! DO!

Fucking leave me alone and worry about yourself since worrying about me has been such a stressor and a chore for you. Fuck you. Fuck all of you who have sat by and stared the depression down the barrel, to who said something and got me into trouble, to who “cares” YOU DON’T FUCKING CARE! YOU NEVER FUCKING DID!

fuck -

[kats-journal-diary-diarrhea]

Finally starting this diary diarrhea. This is through mobile so excuse any typos.

These past several months have been absolute fucking hell. Then December, things became fucking worse. My parents got stupid new furniture and it has been FUCKING HELL. It has just been: my parents demanding nonstop work/cleaning nearly every single fucking day. Plus threatening to get rid of the cats after all my fucking hard work over the years of caring for them. I am so messed up from all the fucking abuse where I can’t even sleep anymore because I get scared I am going to abruptly wake up again to my mom throwing heavy objects at my door which fucking gives me a heart attack. Or my dad banging at my door like a brute. His anger voice makes me think of sickeningly burning charcoal in the dark with heavy smells that hurts my stomach.

Recently my mom threw a bucket at my door shrieking her head off which scared the shit out of me starting up my rare fight or flight response. (Rare because usually I just freeze or shut down.) Unfortunately, my response was fight this time so I automatically ran my mouth off shouting she sounds like an old grandma. That caused her to FUCKING EXPLODE VIOLENTLY. She screeched EXTRA LOUD shouting “GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!! GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM! YOU HAVE NOTHING NICE TO SAY THEN FUCK OFF!!!!”

At that point I was so numb I just responded in a calm manner. “No, I’m cleaning the pantry.” Her loud screeching is comparable to a huge pig screeching loudly when its life is in danger. (Not calling her a pig, just comparing the sounds.)

She exploded because Muffin, our elderly blind 16 year old cat pooped in the dining area. She shouted repeatedly“GET RID OF HER!!” My dad decided to toss her out somewhere. Evil. :/ I gave in to getting “rid of her” because they were being so fucking vile and insane,and so I suggested we just euthanize her BUT I want her ashes. My dad shouted “YOU DON’T NEED HER ASHES!!!!” That implied he was going to dump her off somewhere. Yeah, sure. Dump a poor blind cat out somewhere we had for 16 years that just wanted cuddles. Okay.

Anyways, I was defeated BUT not letting them kill her inhumanly. I want it humanely. I told my sis’. she responded she would take her in. I was so fucking relieved and grateful.

I had to use the last of my savings/funds to get supplies for Muffin. I’m entirely broke thanks to my psychotic fucking insane parents. :/ I can’t even get any small fun things to help make existing less miserable for me.

I am fucking depressed having to give up Muffin. We had her since December 2008. My parents care too much over fucking materialistic shit than beloved pets we had fun and adventures with. :/

Well that’s been much of the fucking hell that’s been going on. Jesus fucking Christ. Yesterday, I will make a separate post over. It will be about how we celebrated my mom’s birthday early (since today my sis’ and I along with Muffin leave to San António.)

Today, got yelled at by my dad for letting Muffin run around. He banged at my door. His disgusting snarling voice again, like vile charcoal in the dark, heavy smell hurting my stomach.

Ughhhh, I still have much to do before my sis’ and I take off. I have to bribe my parents to give Tomtom his meds/vitamins. (That’s a whole other fucking shitstorm. My mom was shrieking her head off saying he needs to die because “LOOK AT HIM HE DOESN’T DESERVE TO LIVE!!!!” Jesus fucking Christ, mom. What the fuck is your problem. I thought you loved Tomtom. :/ Thankfully she stopped when my dad told her to stop which was FUCKING RARE but I am still grateful for that confusing moment. :| Thankfully also they see he is improving.)

Okay. Will probably post about yesterday later and the day before yesterday later as well.

[sunkissedstargirl]

i miss carter

tonight i've mourned carter more than i ever thought i would. he's everything i wanted in a boy, but i ruined it. I just can't stop thinking about how everything is affecting him. I want to know if he's okay, how he really felt leaving me that day, why is was so easy for him to walk away. But he told me he doesn't love me and that's all i need to know. He wants a wife, someone who doesn't have piles of bullshit they have to deal, someone who could give him what he wants, someone who doesn't stress him out because they can't stay on their psych meds. But i guess i can't. I just needed time to figure myself out, but he set everything in stone and seemed so sure he didn't want to be with me. How do you accidentally say i love you to someone when you're drunk at a wedding then not even a couple weeks later end us because you don't know if you love me. Maybe i just am that stressful to deal with. I feel like he did love me in some ways, but i made it to difficult to love me. After this, i don't know even if i need to be in a relationship. He told me he didn't date anyone for two years then he met me and i'm so afraid he won't be open to love again. I want him to end up happy, even if it isn't with me. I can't believe it was so easy for me to hurt a person like that, even when he showed me the love i've always wanted from a man. I'm so sorry Carter, i wish i wasn't a bipolar, hurtful, bitch. I was awful and i promise it's not an excuse, if i'm not on medication i'm not myself. I'm a hateful and stressful person when i'm not on it and i'm so sorry i subjected you to that. I do love you, you were my first real and genuine love. I don't know why i ever did the things i did to you. i miss you more than you could ever imagine. I just want to know you're okay. I was so numb before i met you, i really didn't know if i could ever experience love but you showed me i could. you showed me a man can really care as much as i do and love me. you did all that for me and i still treated you like shit. I can't say i'm sorry enough baby. I know you aren't my baby anyone, but you'll always be mine in my heart. I know you think you're a bundle of red flags but you're everything I've ever wanted. I don't care if you had issues or even if you were outright mentally ill. I feel like you understood me more than anyone ever would and i understood you.I just can't believe you're actually gone. I'm so sorry. I'm drunk and i just wish you were here to cuddle and tell you how much i love you. i'm a destructive mess and i might have not known i was capable of love, but i know now. you taught me love and how to appreciate it. how to love and care for someone they need it most. I could never thank you enough. and by the way, i wanted to have your children. I did imagine us married and with kids, you were everything i wanted as a dad for my kids. I wanted to grow old with you, but it's over. I just wish i could tell you how much you mean/ meant to me. I love you. and i don't know when i won't. I wish i never loved you so i wouldn't be going through this pain. My own emotions scare me, i don't blame you for anything you decided baby. You did what was best for you and i'm so proud of you even though i shouldn't be. I want to feel that way for myself but i don't know how to. I wish i had everything together like you carter, but i don't know how to exist without being a problem. When it comes to romantic relationships, i should have explained to you how i can be so i could prepare you for the pain and hardship. but i didn't and it ended up with you pulling out of the parking lot without chasing me to tell you love me. you knew and i'm so proud of you. i love you. 

[stormy333]

How are you? The truth.

I’ve been trying to figure it out. Why can’t I write lately, what is my problem? I have the answer now. I am going to give you all a heads up we’re about to go into a slightly dark place but a real place. One I feel trapped in.

Enter at your own risk!!!

Mental Illness in not a joke. Chronic Invisible Illnesses are not jokes. Health is not a joke. Spiritual struggle is not a joke. These are not joking matters.

“How are you?”

I can’t answer you honestly at the moment. I know you care and are just being polite but if I say what comes to my mind heres what I’d say:

I used to be so strong in my faith that someone bulling me didn’t hurt that bad. I used to know for a fact that God loved me and had a glorious amazing plan for me and my family. I never used to dream of walking through the woods crying and asking God why he would do this to me. Never thought I’d have such a foul mouth that the only thoughts were “What’s your f*cking point?” Never thought I would pack all my ex best friends letters up and ask why I’m going through this, why my best friend would do that, why I had to sit in a vets office an get told about a once in a lifetime cancer and make an rough but right decision. Why I had to be sick all the time why I had to be such a f*cking burden why I couldn’t have just disappeared because hey maybe then things would be easier? Why do I have to explain to everyone and get weird looks, loose friends, and still be HERE for everyone? Hiding it pretending I’m not broken inside from the people who left the things I’ve been through the things I’m constantly going through the things I watch my family go through the things I can’t change. Then I say hey God I’m trying and it feels like I can’t cut a break then I remember how much worse it could be and feel bad for feeling how I feel? I WANT TO FEEL ENTITLED TO FEEL THE WAY I FEEL!!! Why can’t God just make it all better? What’ s his end game here? Why am I suffering? Yeah, I know it could be worse. I KNOW. I have thought these things through I know I should be grateful I’m alive but am I living? Am I truly living when I can feel the backslide? I can feel the downfall from coming off a med to help something and I know how long it will take to get back? I also know I am almost 18 and feel like a toddler or an extremely elderly person. I feel abandoned and suffocated. I feel hurt and angry. Sad and lost. So many feelings and most of all? I feel numb but it’s not numb? It’s that feeling of nothing and everything. All of it the good and the bad. So, how am I? I am trying.

I'm tired, confused, hurt and lost. But I’m trying. I’m done with the mask. I’m done being worried if someone is going to think I just want attention, not everyone shares their struggles constant but it doesn’t make it less real. I originally created my first ever blog as a place to vent and write and be myself yet I never truly allowed my real self to be there fully. When I began this one back in August, I promised myself that I would stop hiding parts of myself that I would be me completely. No screen name, no sensors just me. Sometimes that means we go down a dark path but it’s a real path.

I hope you all enjoyed this post. Sorry, it’s a bit sad but let’s be real Loves it's relatable. Anyways as always until next time stay safe 💝💚💙🥀

[little666wrath]

So like this is what happened…I’m being abused and been in and out of psychwards for the past 4 months. Nothing but God and Jesus were being shoved down my throat. I prayed everyday sometimes more so if I had nothing to do. I have been come crippled and my irl hell is way to much mentally I can’t go on. So October (like two weeks ago) I just came home from the plainview Long Island hospital were i was bleeding and injuries and I begged them to keep me safe. They didn’t even notice I just got dressed and walked out <23 female with a walker and boot on here leg? For 20 min I waited outside to see if someone would notice. Not until my dad went to look for me did a nurse notice I left and came out and yelled at me.

Like I was heavily just holding on that god will give me serenity as a chanted na meetings for month. Trust god right.

So I come home that night feeling hopeless that my suffering will never end. I went to shower and my pain just over took and I fell down crying. No one in my house cared (I’m nearly blind in one eye dude to hitting my head on a car door)

With all that being said I gave up on god. I said no god would make this beautiful girl with a pure soul suffer this much. So I said fuxk it im selling my soul to Satan. So I got up out of the shower <put my first satanic shirt with a cat on it. Love it> some nice pants. Sat down and cried. I held a sharp object and just went to town to numb my pain. To prove I was in reality. I just could not believe my out come.

So I said Lucifer if you make all my dreams come true and get me out of my earthly hell I’ll forever show you true love. That’s all I have left. He saw me and took me that second. No hesitation and as I bleed I felt serenity like the world stopped. I felt safe.

I went downstairs to take all my medicine <like 8 or 9 different ones all every 6 hours> I haven’t taken it that night because of the hospital and then Kristina was abusing me and it was a mess. So I wait till 3:33 am my safe hour. And a mess broke out. <keep in mind I just hurt myself> Kristina started harassing me and I threw a water bottle at her and it nicks head and oh boy was in for it. He turns around and his face was legit all black red eyes. He ran over to me and screamed at me as I fell down. I was on my back legs up <broken foot> and he start threatening me saying he was gonna send me to a psych ward forever and never let me see the light of day again if I don’t clean up my act and stop acting like this. I was holding my ears crying and sobbing and I finally got up and ran to my room and I was having full PTSD attack. Like I was screaming they were following me I was calling 911 screaming for help and all they’d said is “calm down or we can’t help you”

Like lmao k.

The cops and everyone came and it was just traumatic 

I have this all on video will come out when my movie comes out.

So I was in the worst hospital that started my abuse and abused me even more than the first time. It’s just no way god had me protected or my back in anything.

Last two nights in the wards (they took all my pain meds away) at 3 am I’d be in extreme pain and crying and vomit and no staff cares. I was on 101 and they’d sleep through it lmao.

Satan cleaned up my vomit.

Lucifer held my hand when I thought death was taking me.

Baphomet gave me to strengthen to love my self and my past that I blocked out.

My three animals were there for me when I was homeless.

Satan walked with me.

Lucifer saved me.

Baphomet gave me serenity to love how beautiful I am.

“In the name of the holy spirit” my ass

In the name of Cooper, Kells, Roxie Ann

Our colors blue, pink and purple.

Their love got me out of the hospital in 5 days. Im not going back ever. Im strong and all mighty

Then to seal the deal I put my soul of mine and my protector cooper (his fur) into a jar and made it so innocent and pretty and perfect, and pure nothing but good intentions. Satan told me to give it to my protector so I gave it to my god mom he lead me to.

I did it! I dreamt with Lucifer and King Paimon!

☆I dreamt about me making a dinner for them to just talk. I made some prayers on my dream (That I can't remember) but appart from King Paimon and Lucifer, there was another demon, Andrealphus!

☆The first to arrive was Andrealphus, but not on his peacock form, but rather a shoebill... funny

☆Next to arrive was King Paimon, but he wasn't in his usual form. He had a fox head, frog legs and human torso. He was very nice and chatty though, he had such kind aura I felt safe.

☆Last to arrive was Lucifer, I couldn't see him, he was like a shadow but he was there. He didn't talk but I thanked him and everyone for coming and I appreciate their company.

Thoughts? Is it a signal for Andrealphus to be in my dream even though I didn't call for him?

[winter-soldier-vibes]

Where’s my white flag? (Bucky x reader)

Bucky x reader

Word count 2620

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, depression, worthlessness

Summary: Reader is on the roof experiencing suicidal ideation and Bucky talks her down from it. 

A/N: Please, PLEASE, if you think this will do more harm than good, skip this one. I don’t want to harm anyone in their journey, but writing comfort helps me feel as if I am getting it. I hope that you can feel some too, because people do care. If you feel similar ways to this fic, please reach out, you're not alone. As always, my messages are open too. <3

Taglist: @buckys2thicc @abitgryffindorky @thatfangirl42

---------------

It was a gorgeous night, really. It was a warm summer night, a light breeze blowing your hair. The sky was clear, stars scattered across it. The moon was bright, and the streets weren’t too loud for New York. The buildings lit up the streets, and even in the busy city setting, it wasn’t as harsh as it could be sometimes. It really was beautiful.

Especially looking over it from the roof of Stark Tower. 

You knew you weren’t doing yourself a favor, sitting with your legs over the edge gazing out at the streets below. You knew it wasn’t the best choice for your mentality. Not that you cared much anyway.

See, life had been less than kind to you recently. You loved your family, the Avengers, and being on the team. But one day, doubts and stress had crept in. you don’t know why or when exactly it happened but soon the bad days became bad weeks. It wasn’t long before a good day came as a surprise, and lately you had stopped hoping that they would come. You were used to this numb depression. That didn’t mean you enjoyed it.

But you never thought you’d ever be able to get out of it.

You knew the team loved you, you knew you were good at what you did. But even so, every night you somehow found yourself doubting your worth and questioning your abilities. You had been able to hide behind fake smiles for some time, but soon it became easier to hide in your room. No one to hide from, no reason to hide. 

You felt like you were living on borrowed time. You didn’t know when living became a chore and not just...living. Most people will find work boring or basic chores undesirable. But for you the basics of living as a human had become too much for you. Exhausted from the slightest interactions or basic human needs.

Your emotions would slide from one extreme to the other or disappear entirely. Feeling too much or nothing at all. It’s one thing to be trapped in a place physically. It’s another when your body is the cage and somewhere you had lost the key.

Which is why you found yourself out here on the roof. Again. You’d been coming up here  more and more recently, driven to desperation. You never knew if you would ever go through with it. If there would ever be a time you would actually jump, or if every time would be chalked up to getting fresh air. You put a lot of thought into it and this was the best way you could think of to end your pain. Yet even though you wanted to die, you never quite felt like you could ever do it. 

Not necessarily that you wanted to die - more so you just didn’t want to live the life you had been given. It was too painful. And you were tired of fighting for something that had proved to you that it wasn’t going to work out. 

You had people, a family. No matter how much you doubted your worth, you know it would have an impact on them. Tony would overwork himself in the lab. Natasha would shut down emotionally. Steve and Bucky would blame themselves even though it had nothing to do with them. They were the reason you had been able to stay for so long.

But they wouldn’t think that. They would only see that you were gone and blame themselves for not noticing. Even though they had been - checking in on you or having you sit out missions out of worry of the risks you took. They cared about you, and you didn’t want to hurt them.

But lately, the pain of everything building up had begun to outweigh the worry of the impact you would have on them.

It was better this way

They’d be better off

You wouldn’t be in pain anymore.

Just lean forward, close your eyes and -

“Y/n?” you heard a familiar voice behind you.

You let out a small breath before opening your eyes. You knew who it was. Without turning around you replied with a small “Hey Bucky.”

You looked up from the ground, still not looking at him. “Beautiful night isn’t it?”

Bucky started walking towards you nervously. He had noticed how withdrawn you had been but he never imagined….swallowing, he asked “What are you doing out here?”

You merely shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. You still weren’t sure how tonight would end. “Just clearing my head I guess.” you replied with. You spoke as if you were sitting on the kitchen counter with your legs dangling over. As if you weren’t over 1,000 feet above the city streets below.

Swallowing nervously again at seeing your feet dangling over the edge, he cleared his throat. “Can I sit with you?”

You nodded, still unable to look at him as he sat down next to you. You knew the emotion would be overwhelming if you did. He felt his heart rate pick up looking over the edge, knowing that a wrong move from either of you would certainly be lethal. “Do you want to go inside and talk?”

You were silent. 

“Why don’t we move back a little bit, it’s pretty dangerous to be this close to the edge.”

“I know,” you said, finally meeting his eyes. “That’s kind of the point,” you said almost emotionlessly. Bucky looked back at you, eyebrows creased in concern. You held the edge of the roof in your hands tightly, knuckles turning white. You looked back down at the streets below. “You ever think about dying?” you asked suddenly, emotion starting to grow inside you as you felt tears prick your eyes from being so vulnerable. No going back now.

“Y/n, why don’t we go inside, we -”

“I know I wouldn’t want to drown” you looked at him and shook your head. “Slow and painful. Not for me. I’ve thought about pills but it isn’t always effective and I could just end up getting really sick, and depending on the medication it could be painful.” you laughed bitterly as tears filled your eyes, looking back out at the skyline. “Some people think you take meds and fall asleep but it’s not always like that. I know if I died I would want it to be quick. A gunshot, snapping my neck…” you paused for a moment, letting the tears spill over. “...Falling off a building.”.

Bucky could feel his heart pounding in his chest at your words, breaking at how casually you talked about this and how much thought you had given it. “Do you think about it a lot?” he asked, voice wavering from anxiety. 

You swallowed dryly as you felt Bucky’s eyes on you. “A gunshot is the easiest. It’s messy, but it’s certain. But if I did that then one of you would be the first to find me, and no one would ever want to go in the training room again. It’s nearly impossible to snap your own neck. But if I jump…” you tilted your head back and forth a little. “The public finds me first. You wouldn’t be the first to see me.”

You took a deep breath and brought your eyes back to his. “I think about it every goddamn day.”

Bucky took a deep breath. You started to stand up and Bucky did too, nervous at what you were going to do. He reached out his hand to try to grab you but you swatted it away, walking away from the edge slightly and turning your back to him.

“Y/n, talk to me, let me try to help you.” he said. “Please,” he added, desperation threading his voice. 

You turned around, arms crossed. “You can’t help me, no one can help me.” you shook your head. “Every day I wake up and it’s the same shit. It's the same tiring life and routine, over and over. It’s the same feeling 24/7. There’s no escape from it, there’s no break.” you started getting more passionate and put your arms out. “Even if I could get a break I’d come back to the same shit at some point. There’s no escaping my life and my feelings, I can’t turn off my mind.” your voice was rising through tears of frustration. “I don’t want this life anymore, okay? I want to die but I can’t do it. No matter how much I want to, I CAN’T! Where’s my fucking white flag?!” you shook your head again. “When do I get to tap out? I can’t do this anymore!” you shouted. “I’m tired of fighting for a life that I will NEVER have!”

Bucky looked at you sadly, knowing all too well the feeling of craving an escape. He walked closer to you, you trying to walk away. He grabbed your hand and you wrestled out of it. He came closer and grabbed you by your shoulders more firmly trying to bring you into a hug. “Get the fuck off.” you said, trying to get away, punching his chest. It didn’t affect him, and he just kept trying to hold you still despite your wrestling figure. Eventually your anger melted into agony, as you let out sobs against his chest, giving into the embrace.

“Please, just let me die…”

“It’s not your time yet,” he whispered.

You began crying harder and he held you protectively, whispering “I got you. It’s okay.”

He kept repeating that and hushing you, keeping his arms tightly around you, supporting you. “I don’t want to do this anymore…” you sobbed into his chest. 

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking. He cradled your head against his chest. “I know.”

After standing there for a few more moments, he said “Let’s get you inside. It's going to be okay.”

And with that, he moved to pick you up, doing so with ease. You hid your face against his chest, trying to contain your cries. You were embarrassed to be so emotional. Luckily for you, your room was close to the elevator and seeing as it was early morning now, no one was roaming the halls. 

He brought you into your room and sat down on the bed, still holding you in his lap. You were still crying, both from the situation and out of shame for being so vulnerable. He still held you tightly, whispering comforting words to you and breathing steadily. Eventually you were able to find your own rhythm, still crying softly. It wasn’t until now that you realized how badly you were shaking. 

After a few minutes of silence, Bucky began to speak. “I just want you to listen, okay?” when you nodded he continued. “I know that you might not believe me but I felt the same way once. Remembering everything I did as the Winter Soldier and the nightmares, they just...wouldn’t stop. Remembering was the worst part. Knowing what I did, even if I didn’t have control, made day and night hell. I couldn’t make it stop.” Your eyes filled with tears, knowing how much he blamed himself. 

“I couldn’t control the memories and the nightmares. I couldn’t avoid my metal arm. It was a constant reminder of everything they made me do. And I didn’t want to feel the guilt that I did. But death wasn’t the answer.” he guided your face to look at his. “Death is never the answer. The memories stay, but the guilt fades.”

 “You are such a good person.” when you scoffed he added “I know these feelings and thoughts tell you you’re not but you are. I know it may seem like it will never end, but it can get easier. You don’t have to be okay, you don’t have to be strong for us. But taking away your chance at every future good experience by permanently preventing the bad ones isn’t worth it.”

Your eyes filled with fresh tears. “Sometimes it feels like it’s all about pros and cons. Like no good experience could outweigh the pain of all of this.” you let the tears fall and shook your head. “Life isn’t supposed to hurt.”

He hugged you tightly. “No one asks for pain, no one asks for this. It’s not your fault that you feel this way and it’s okay. But it can get better, I promise.”

You cried into his chest. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“There’s no right thing to do. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here for you, and I know the whole team would be too if you needed them to be. You’re not weak, you’re not stupid. You’re going to get through this, because you are strong.”

“I just…” you started, shaking your head a little. “This was never supposed to happen. I don’t know why I can’t control it anymore. It’s been bad for a while but I was always able to function and push down this type of thing. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where I went wrong.”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control it. These things happen, there doesn’t always have to be a reason. Emotions are what they are and our own minds can be our worst enemy. We know the best way to hurt ourselves, we know what our weaknesses are. Sometimes our minds take advantage of that.”

You moved to look at him. “How did you make it stop? You said it got easier, how did you do it? How do you turn it off?”

“It’s not quite that simple. I know deep down that I wasn’t in control. It was what HYDRA had created that killed those people, not the human I was before. And I tried to remind myself that I still had the person I was before HYDRA in me, somewhere. And slowly I tried to find who I used to be to help create who I could be. I don’t know if that makes sense -”

“It does,” you said as you leaned into his chest again. you squeezed your eyes shut. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. I’m always here to help you okay?” you nodded. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, and we can talk in the morning, okay?” you nodded again, and Bucky gave you another hug before standing up. You lied down, you being too tired to care about changing out of your day clothes. They were comfortable enough. 

Bucky, not wanting to leave you alone, went to go sit in a chair. He didn’t want to cross any boundaries. Before he could sit down though, you sat up and turned to him. 

“Can you lay with me please?” Bucky nodded. “Yeah, of course.” He took off his shoes and climbed into the other side of the bed, giving you some space. You moved to be flush against his chest, his heartbeat soothing to you. “Thank you,” you said softly

“No need to thank me.” He said softly, wrapping his arms around you, making you feel protected. “I should be thanking you.” He added

“For what?” You asked, confused.

“For not giving up.”

[mysticalrambling]

Hello

I m new on your blog and read your work and i fell in love with your stories. I read you were interested in taking request so can you take my request too? I was wondering if you can write a steve rogers x reader, where y/n is his girlfriend and he leaves her after civil war and then they see each other in infinity war, he tries to patchup with her but she ignores him because in past he often compared her to peggy and also because she knew about him kissing sharon and she is hurt. During the fight she doesn't talks to him and when tony returns from space she still continues to ignore Steve and when he confronts her she snaps at him for hurting her for a long time. He apologizes and somehow they makeup and also him kissing sharon was misunderstanding because sharon kissed him. And then they are happy together and also in endgame the reader is worried steve will stay in past but he comes back and they get married with the team present and have kids and live happily

Happily Ever After (S.R)

A/N: Thank you so much lovely and I loved the plot line. I loved writing about it and I made a few additions to the story. Hope you like it and I am open to more requests.

Steve Rogers Fanfiction (Fanfiction Master List)

Summary: Steve comes back after Civil War and you are angry with him because he left you. You do not forgive him because you thought he cheated on you and he always compared you with Peggy. But he returns from the past when he chose you over Peggy and you forgive him. You eventually get married and expand your family.

Warnings: Angst but eventual fluff.

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He stood right there in his Captain America shield with all his former glory. Your ex boyfriend looked the same but there were some differences like he had a full grown beard and he was more muscular. He kept staring at you with longing and pain but it was not even the half of what you experienced while he was gone.

“(Y/N), you need to take the position left to Steve.” Tony pulled you out of your trance and you just stared at him when you comprehended his order. He had been there for you from the moment Steve left you after the Civil War. Sitting with you when you couldn’t sleep at night and forcefully feeding you when you spent the whole day starving. He didn’t want you anywhere near Captain but you both always worked best together and there were much more important matters at hand.

“But Tony, I can be with Steve.” As much as Rhodey wanted to be away from all of the people that were responsible for his fall, he didn’t want you to suffer. They all had seen you fall apart on the Avenger base when you realised that your boyfriend left without saying good bye to you and without an explanation. Just telling Tony on a voice message to take care of you wasn’t enough.

“I’ll be okay, Rhodey. You are needed near the buildings so if some of the aliens escape our defenses, you can be there to protect the city.”

All of the avengers kept stealing glances at the both of you because they knew that it was only a matter of time before you exploded. But they were wrong. You were not the stubborn, hot headed woman that did not let anyone walk over her. That woman died when Steve left. He took her with himself.

"Take your positions and give them hell." Steve and you made your way towards your designated place.

"(Y/N), listen to me. I-"

"Do not talk to me. We are done." Keeping your eyes trained on the path, you avoided meeting his eyes.

"But, let me explain. I did not have a choice. You sided with Tony and I couldn't tell you that we were leaving." He tried to catch up with you but you were a woman on a mission.

"I did not side with Tony, I sided with the accords. And I was working my ass off to get you all out of there and I looked like a fool in the end." He collided in you as you abruptly stopped in your tracks.

"(Y/N), I didn't know-"

"You didn't know because you never tried to contact me. I was the one who had to go through multiple trials with the government because they thought I helped you all to escape." There were tears pooling in your eyes and Steve wanted to kill himself for being the cause. "I was benched for four months, for Gods sake."

You are reminded of those horrible times when you didn't know what your next step was going to be. The others tried to help you but you had to suffer through all the criticism alone. Some days you just wanted to leave it all behind and start a new life. But you weren't a coward. You wouldn't let anyone run over you like this and ruin your life. Getting back up was tough but you managed it. The day that you were allowed back on the field was the day that you decided you were not going to let anyone ruin your life.

"(Y/N), I made a mistake and I missed you so much." He tried to touch you but you flinched. A look of hurt passed his eyes and retracted his hands.

"Let's just fight. I want to kick some ass." The war crafts soon landed and you all got to fight. You had to admit that Steve was one of the best teammate that you had. He knew when to defend you and when to let you attack. You were busy fighting two of the aliens when one came from the back. Steve saw it and immediately came to your defense. You were never going to admit it but you missed this.

When the fight ended, you both made your way towards the main compound and saw all the avengers gathered together. Steve and you only had minor cuts throughout your body but nothing major. The moment you saw what all the commotion is about, your breath hitched. It was Tony with half of his skin burnt and taking his last breath.

Kneeling down beside him, you started crying. "Hey, it's okay. Just be happy and do not hold on to old grudges. Take care of family for me, please." Pepper was beside you and she started crying harder when she heard him. "Steve, come here for a second."

"I am so sorry for everything. You will always be my friend, Stark."

"We both were in the wrong, Cap. For what it's worth, do not lose (Y/N) because she is the best thing that has happened to you."

Tony was on his last breaths now and you both moved aside because Pepper wanted to have some last moments with him. There were some rifts in the team since the civil war but at this moment, you all were in this together. Tony was the one who brought you all together and saved many of you from your abusive lives. He was your best friend and you didn't know how you would spend your life without his sarcastic comments and his new inventions.

"You go, Tony. We are going to be okay. I love you." The words that left Pepper were a mere whisper but because of the pin drop silence, you were able to hear her.

"I love you too," Uttering his last words, he finally closed his eyes and all that could be heard were Pepper's wails of agony. Everything after it was a blur; the med bay, the briefing, the funeral. Time seemed to pass you by and you were numb the whole time. It was like a large piece of your heart was torn away from you and you didn't know how to react.

"(Y/N), can we talk?" Natasha lightly knocked on your door before you muttered a small come in. She looked around the room and noticed the lack of pictures in your room. The warmth that once radiated from your room was now gone. There were pictures of you with the team, with Steve and with Natasha. You liked to capture all the memories and it was one of the things the team loved about you.

"Hi."

"Hello. I just wanted to see how you were doing after everything."

"I am fine. Just processing everything." The loose thread on your blanket was the main focus of your attention right now.

"You don't seem fine. I know you, (Y/N)."

"No, you don't." Scoffing at her ridiculous statement, you felt anger bubbling inside your chest. "You were one of the first people who became my friend when I came to this tower. You knew I couldn't live without Chris and you. You both were my support system."

"(Y/N), I wanted to tell you everything. Believe me, I did. But we had to keep it a secret because we had to protect the other avengers as well."

"I have been listening to this reason from the past few days and I am done. I was ready to help you guys and you could have just contacted me once. I didn't know if you were dead or alive."

"I am sorry. I wanted to do it but it was never the right time. Half of the times you were surrounded by government officials. Can you forgive me?" The red head came and sat next to you on the bed.

"I can but I don't know if we can go back to the way things were."

"It's okay. We will be friends again. And as a new friend, I just want to tell you that Steve was miserable these past two years and he loves you so much."

"I don't want to talk about him, Nat. Let's go to the gym and spar."

"I am going to kick your ass as alway, (Y/L/N)."

"I have been practicing, Romanoff." You both went on to sparring and Natasha won in the end. However, the whole day you kept thinking about your ex boyfriend. He had been trying to talk to you from the past two weeks. It was hard for you to ignore him but you were now reminded of the times when he compared you with Peggy.

The small things that you did was always met with criticism like Peggy did not work in the field like this or Peggy wouldn't talk to him like a brat. Apparently, she was the mature one and you could never compare to her. Most of the times, you tried not to let the comments get to you but you were human. He might have done it unintentionally and you didn't want to hold it against him. But it hurt.

"We are going to talk today and you are not going to run away this time." He blocked you in the kitchen when you came out of your room to drink some water.

"Funny how you are saying that I am the one that is running away. Hypocrite much now, are we?"

"(Y/N), I am apologising to you because I can't live without you."

"You did so well for two years, I don't know why it is a problem now."

"I understand that you are angry with me. I wanted to be with you so bad but my duty as Captain prevented me from it." Your face was turned away from Steve but you turned towards him when you heard the words leave his mouth.

"Your job is more important than me?" Enraged, all you could see was red and you wanted to punch the daylights out of him.

"I thought it was but not anymore. You are the most important thing in my life and I don't want to lose you."

"Well, you have other women in your life so you don't need me."

"What other women?" Steve's confused gaze swept over your face when you spit those words out.

"I know about Sharon. You kissed her when we were still together. You cheated on me and I hate you for it." Pointing your fingers at his chest, you didn't realise when your voice started to rise.

Steve held your hands and pulled you close to his chest. "Sharon kissed me and I immediately backed off. I would never cheat on you."

You couldn't believe your ears right now. This was one of the things that helped you get over Steve. Believing that he cheated on you, made it a lot easier for you to despise him. Granted that never happened but it was still easier. However, he was still stuck in the past and he did not want to admit it.

"Even if Sharon is not a problem, you are still stuck in the past."

"What do you mean?"

"You are still in love with Peggy and I can not be your second choice anymore."

"Peggy has got nothing to do with this. She is dead and I love you."

"But I would have never been the one you loved if Peggy was here."

"That's not true. You both are totally different people and I love you now." Steve didn't know how to explain it to you. The things he felt for you were totally different for what he felt for Peggy. You made his breath hitch and his heart pounded whenever you smiled at him. He was so in love with you that he didn't think it was possible to love someone this much.

He knew that he compared you with Peggy before he left but at that time he was not ready to leave the past. It was unfair of him to do that to you while you tried very hard to meet all his expectations. However, he realised afterwards that you did not have to meet any of his expectations because you exceeded all of them. He felt so guilty and he just wanted to have you back in his life and forget about all the things that happened.

"I don't believe you."

"Please do. I want us to be okay before I go to return all the stones."

"You do that and then we can talk about us." He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before you could say anything. You were pretty sure that would stay back with Peggy and that's why you didn't want to reconcile things. You didn't want him to break your heart again.

"Ready to go, Cap?" Scott asked as he rechecked the time machine again. Everyone glanced at each other when he said that because they all thought that Steve might remain in the past for Peggy. They all had their doubts but everyone was scared to say them out loud. "You only have five seconds to get back before you are stuck."

"Ready." He glanced at you one last time and stepped in to the machine. You held your breath as Scott counted out loud and when he reached the number four, you were sure that he wasn't coming back. You were about to turn back when a snapping sound echoed throughout the room.

"I told you I will come back." Coming to a halt right in front of you, you couldn't believe your eyes. You pulled him in and kissed him ferociously.

"I love you."

"I love you too and remember that no one compares to you. I am really sorry."

"It's okay. You passed the test." When you both kissed again, all of your friends cheered for you.

As time passed by, you realised that Steve was the best person you could have possibly ended up. He was the literally the man of your dreams. Waking up to him every morning, cuddled up in your bed to going to bed with him kissing you goodnight. Steve made you breakfast every morning even when he was getting late and weekends were only reserved you.

The day that he proposed was still so clear on your mind. You remembered how he was nervous for a week that you thought something was seriously wrong with him. He would stutter and sweat when you got too close to him like it was a new relationship. There was a barbecue for the whole team on the compound and you all were gathered around the garden with drinks in hand. Everyone was enjoying it to the fullest when out of nowhere Steve knelt in front of you with a ring in his hand. After listening to his speech, you said yes with tears in your eyes.

"Are you ready?" Natasha asked you as she smoothed down your wedding dress that you spent months picking out.

"Yes." Pepper helped Morgan with the flower basket because the seven year old wanted to be the flower girl.

"Okay, then it's time." Walking down the aisle was worth it when you saw the adoration flicker in his eyes. He said some of the most heart warming words that had you ruining your eye makeup. It was a beautiful ceremony that only included close family and friends. You wanted a private wedding and you announced it to the world the next day. They all went crazy but the positive response was overwhelming to say the least.

Four months in to the wedding, you realised you were pregnant. Natasha was the one who sat beside when you waited for the test while Pepper brought a million of them for you. You were scared to tell him because you never discussed the possibility of having kids in detail.

"Just tell him. He is going to be ecstatic." Natasha tried to soothe you when you started crying with your face in between your hands.

"Okay. Steve will be home anytime soon."

"We should probably get going." Pepper and Natasha made their way towards the door and gently closed it.

"Hey, babe." Kissing you on the cheek, he immediately went to the washroom to take a shower.

"We need to talk."

"Sure. What's up?"

"I am pregnant." Blurting it out was not what you had planned but you couldn't think of another way. He stopped folding his armor midway and just looked at you with disbelief in his eyes.

"Are you serious? Oh my god. When did you find out? I am so happy, baby."

"I found out about an hour ago. And you are seriously happy?"

"Of course, I am. We will have a mini you or me with us in nine months. I love you, baby."

"I love you too." Keeping his hands on your stomach, he hugged you tightly and you knew that you got your happy ending. You were one of the luckiest people alive because you have a husband like Steve and now you were going to have family with him.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

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A/N: I love Captain America and I was happy to write a fanfiction about him. If you guys have any more request, I will be happy to write about them and message me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Taglist: @justile 

Like, comment and reblog.

._._._._.

[wellimaginethat]

Stitches: Part One

Pairing: Connor Rhodes x Sister!Reader

Requested?: Yes

Word Count: 3099

Author’s Note: This idea was super cute and I loved it, wish I could have gotten it written sooner for the lovely requester but stupid writers block hit. I decided I am going to make this into two parts

Trigger Warning(s): Hospital, needles, panic attack, injury, needing stitches, being bullied, physical assault

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Y/N Rhodes is the younger sister of Connor, she’s been being picked on at school and it escalates to where she needs stitches and ends up in the ED, where she has a panic attack due to a fear of needles and hospitals, so Connor shows up to save the day.

Chicago Med Tags: @bethii1, @drakelover78, @lorenakaspersen​ (want to be tagged? message me!)

Y/N = Your Name

High school is rough, especially when you’re being bullied. But you tried to shrug it off and ignore it, but that just seemed to make it worse, so you tried talking to the teachers and the principal and that is how you landed in the ED.

You were brought in by the ambulance because you were pushed down a flight of concrete steps, luckily you didn’t get hurt too badly but the school called the ambulance regardless.

You absolutely hated hospitals, or rather you were terrified of them. You didn’t really have a reason for being afraid of hospitals, but they freaked you out. Everything about hospitals freaked you out. The doctors, the nurses, needles, the noises. Everything. And given that you were already upset over what happened, it just made it all worse.

When they wheeled you in, you heard the paramedic talking to a nurse.

“Sixteen year old female, pushed down a flight of concrete steps outside the high school, has a massive gash on her forehead and possibly some broken ribs.”

When they got you into the room, the nurse the paramedic had been talking to and a red headed doctor walked in.

“Hi my name’s Dr. Halstead, can you tell me your name?” The doctor asked

“Y/N Rhodes.” You managed to get out, your eyes were darting around and you looked uneasy.

The nurse looked at the doctor before looking at you. “You’re Connor’s little sister, aren’t you?” You nodded silently, feeling almost like a little kid. Dr. Halstead peaked out of the room and you heard him call your brother to your room.

The minute Connor walked in his face fell and he rushed to your side, checking you over and especially taking a look at the gash on your head. “God, Y/N, what happened?” He asked you in an incredibly worried tone, looking at you with an almost scared look in his eyes.

“Jake pushed me down the stairs at school.” You told him weakly, scared and sad. “He was mad because I told the principal about him.”

Connor nodded before looking at Dr. Halstead and nodding for him to head out of the room so they could talk.

The nurse approached you then with a soft smile. “My name is Maggie, how about I get an IV hooked up to get you some pain meds to help?” She asked you in a soft voice, noticing how scared you seemed.

“A-an IV? Doesn’t that involve a needle?” You asked, stuttering a bit. You shook your head violently, causing yourself to see stars, when she nodded. “No...no needles.” Maggie seemed hesitant but nodded a bit. “Alright, how about we wait on that until your brother gets back? Maybe he can ease your worries?”

You nodded a bit and watched as Maggie also stepped out of the room.

“I’ll talk to Goodwin about it, see if she’ll allow it this one time.” Connor told Will as they talked about five feet from your room, you couldn’t hear them but could see that Connor was discussing something with your doctor and it made you curious.

“Talk to Goodwin about what?” Sharon walked up behind him after hearing her name, looking at Connor.

Connor took a breath, thinking how best to broach the subject to her to convince her. “My sister was hurt.” He started out. “And she’s scared of hospitals and doctors and pretty much everything involving medicine.”

“I sense I know where this is going.” Sharon stated but waited for him to continue.

“Let me treat her.” Connor stated.

Will crossed his arms, waiting for Goodwin to tell him no.

Before Sharon had the chance, Connor spoke again. “She’s absolutely terrified and I’m afraid if someone else treats her it will cause her to have a panic attack.”

“And you think if you treat her you can avoid this?” Sharon asked him, skeptically.

Connor slowly nodded, a bit hesitant. “I believe so, yes. I know it goes against the code of ethics-”

Sharon cut him off, glancing over into your room and seeing how frightened you seemed before looking back at your brother. “I will make an exception.” She told him. “Due to the circumstances, I feel it’s in the patient’s best interest.”

Connor was beyond grateful and relieved. “Thank you.” He told her before heading back to your room. “Hey.” He said softly, moving over to take another look at the gash on your head. “So it looks like you’re gonna need stitches, okay?” Your eyes widened and you shook your head. “No no no no…” You started to panic.

Connor gently placed his hands on your shoulders. “Hey there, look at me.” He said softly, waiting until you looked at him. “It’s going to be okay, alright? I’m gonna take care of you and it’s all going to be okay.” He said softly.

You nodded silently but your eyes were still full of fear.

“Now Maggie is going to give you an IV, I want you to focus on me while she does that.” Connor said softly as Maggie took your arm in her gloves hands. “Just focus on me.”

You kept your eyes on him and winced when you felt the plastic tighten around your bicep, trying to brace yourself for the needle.

“Just keep focusing on me.” Connor said softly.

You squeaked when you felt the needle pierce the skin in the crook of your elbow but you managed to not panic or black out, which was an amazing feat.

“You did good.” Connor said softly, standing to get what he needed. “Now I’m going to have to give you a shot to numb the area so I can stitch up the gash, okay?”

“Wait!” You said quickly, stopping him before he had a chance to even get the syringe ready. When he looked at you, you met his eyes. “Just give me a second to prepare myself.” You said quietly, still trying to work through the emotions of getting the IV.

Connor nodded and set the syringe down on the sterilized tray, waiting until you were ready.

You took a couple of deep breaths before you nodded. “Okay...I think I’m ready.” You told him and he picked the syringe up.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” Maggie offered softly, holding her hand out to you.

You smiled weakly and nodded, taking her hand as you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself.

It went a lot better than you or Connor was expecting, soon enough the area surrounding the gash was numb and Connor was able to start stitching it up. Luckily, if the gash left a scar it was along your hairline so it would be less noticeable, and you’d be able to hide it with your hair.

“Alright, almost done.” Connor said as he did the last stitch and tied it, cutting off the excess and setting it off to the side before taking a seat. “Now, tell me again what happened.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “Jake’s been bullying me for a while now, but it just keeps getting worse. After he beat me up yesterday, I told the principal and then today he attacked me again and pushed me down the steps outside of school when I was trying to leave.” You explained, looking at your hands. “It just keeps getting worse.”

“Sounds like maybe we should inform the cops.” Maggie remarked softly.

“Why? They probably won’t do anything.” You were convinced that you’d just have to deal with it.

“What he did today qualifies as assault.” Connor told you gently, agreeing with Maggie and nodding to her.

She disappeared out of the room, probably heading to call the police.

“It’ll just make it worse!” You exclaimed, worried, wanting Maggie to stop before she got the cops involved.

Connor hushed you gently, moving to sit on the bed beside you. “It’s not going to get worse.”

“You don’t know that!” You insisted, trying feebly to push him away when he carefully pulled you into a hug.

“I do know that, because I’m your big brother.” Connor told you. “And big brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters. I’m sorry I didn’t know what was going on before otherwise I would have done something a lot sooner.”

You sniffled. “What if the cops don’t do anything?” “Well then I guess I’ll just have to have a talk with Jake’s parents.” Connor replied.

“His parents can’t do anything, he’s eighteen.” You replied quietly, leaning into the hug more as exhaustion took over you. You just wanted to go home and pretend nothing happened.

“Well that means he’s an adult and the cops should do something considering he attacked a minor.” Connor told you, trying to ease your worries. He glanced out of the room and noticed your dad was standing at the nurse’s station. “I’ll be right back.” He told you softly, kissing the top of your head before pulling away from the hug slowly.

“I want to know where my daughter is.” Cornelius demanded of the nurse.

“I just need a name, sir.” The nurse tried to tell him in a polite voice.

“I’ve got this, Doris.” Connor told her, gaining the attention of his dad. He wasn’t thrilled to see him, but the two had an unspoken agreement that they would play nice whenever you were around. “She’s in here.” Connor motioned to where you were, leading your dad in.

“Dad.” You were honestly happy to see him, even though he was a pretty absent father, you still adored him and you were kind of his pride and joy for now, favoring you over your two older siblings.

Cornelius walked over. “What on earth happened?” “A boy attacked her at school.” Connor told him, crossing his arms. “Did you know she was being bullied?”

“Bullied?” Cornelius looked at Connor and back to you before looking back at your brother. “I had no idea.” Connor scoffed. “Figures.” He muttered under his breath, looking out of the room and taking his attention off you and your father as he watched for the police to arrive.

After your brother’s dramatic exit, you and your father both fell silent. You were keenly aware of the fact that your father favored you compared to your siblings, and that he and Connor had an especially strained relationship for some reason. Neither of them ever put you in the middle of it and they always attempted to play nice in your presence, keyword being attempted. As a child, you weren’t aware of the fact that they had issues, but now that you were getting older it was rather hard to ignore, especially in tense situations like this.

You could hear different sounds coming from different rooms in the ED and it made you uncomfortable, causing you to shift on the bed.

“Are you alright?” Your father looked at you with concern in his eyes.

You nodded silently at first. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You finally managed to reply in a quiet voice. “I just really don’t like hospitals.”

“Well after you’re released we’ll take you home and you can rest in the comfort of your own bed.”

You smiled tiredly at him and nodded. “Sounds good.”

It was a while longer before the cops finally showed up to ask you some questions, and that was when Connor finally came back into your room.

“Miss. Rhodes, can you tell us what happened?” A female cop asked you in a polite tone, like the kind adults use with children who seem upset.

You shifted on the bed again. “There’s this kid I go to school with and he’s been bullying me for a while now.” You told her, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear nervously. “It’s been getting worse and worse and today he pushed me down the front steps at school.”

The female cop wrote what you said down, nodding as she did so. “And what did you say his name was?”

You pulled your lip in between your teeth, chewing on it nervously.

Connor walked over to you and gently touched your arm to comfort you.

“Jake. Jacob Smith.” You corrected yourself, taking a deep breath. 

“And how long has this been going on?”

You thought about the question, trying to pinpoint just when Jake started bullying you. “About a year or so. It started when I was a freshman and just continued on. I think it was my second semester as a freshman.”

The cop nodded and was about to speak before your dad interrupted.

“We want to press charges.” He insisted.

You shrunk down a bit in your seat, knowing how your father could treat people, already embarrassed.

“We understand, Mr. Rhodes, but we do need to conduct an investigation into this first.”

“An investigation? Look at my daughter, she’s in the hospital for Christ’s sake! She’s traumatized!” He did have a point, but you knew the cops were just trying to do their jobs.

That’s when the male cop spoke up. “We understand that you’re upset, sir, but we need you to calm down and let us do our job.”

That didn’t bode well with your father.

“Dad, please.” You begged quietly, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. “Just let the cops do their job.”

Cornelius had a hard time saying no to you, given that you were the baby of the family and his favorite child, so he slowly backed down and took his seat at your bedside again.

“I hate to say it, but our dad has a point.” You brother spoke up, thankfully much calmer than your father. “She was attacked by this boy and it did cause her both physical and mental harm, so we would appreciate it if you could make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Both cops nodded to him. “We’ll talk to the witnesses, it was reported so we’re sure it will be a pretty open and shut case, but we do need to conduct an investigation.”

“We understand.” Connor told them, glancing over at his father before looking back at the cops. “Or at least I do.” He said in a lower voice as he walked out of the room with them.

It was a few minutes before Connor came back into the room.

“Thank you.” Your father told him tightly. “For agreeing with me instead of them.”

Connor didn’t respond, just shook his head a bit. He knew if he responded it would just lead to an argument and he didn’t want to put you through that.

“Can I go home?” You asked him quietly as he walked over to your side. “Please? I’m exhausted and I hate the hospital.”

Connor nodded. “I know you do.” He looked at your dad. “How about you come fill out the discharge papers so we can get her out of here?”

Cornelius nodded and stood up. “We’ll be right back.” He told you softly, touching your hand gently before following your brother out.

“You need to watch yourself around the cops.” Connor warned him once they were out of your earshot.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Connor turned to face him. “It means you need to be nice otherwise nothing will get done.”

Cornelius scoffed at that. “I know how to deal with people, Connor.”

“No you know how to push people around and buy them off.” Connor retorted, crossing his arms. “Just back off this time, let the cops do their jobs.”

Cornelius walked past him and to the nurse’s station. “I’d like you to discharge my daughter now. Y/N Rhodes.” As soon as the papers were signed, he went back to your room. “Alright, we’re good to go.” He gave you a smile.

You looked past him. “Where’s Connor? Isn’t he gonna come say goodbye?”

“He had to get back to work.” Your dad told you, but you could tell he was lying. Something happened and you knew it and it made you feel like your stomach was sinking into a black hole. You swallowed around the dry lump in your throat and nodded, trying to pretend you didn’t suspect anything. “Oh. Okay.” You could write the sadness off as not getting to say goodbye to your brother. You got up from the bed slowly.

“Do you need some help?”

You shook your head. “I’ve got it, thanks.” You waved him off as you grabbed your backpack from the floor before heading over to him. “I’m so ready to get home.” You breathed out, simply exhausted. “I just want to change into my pajamas and curl up in my bed.” You had plans to watch movies the rest of the afternoon.

Your dad nodded and walked out of the hospital with you, leading you over to his car.

Once you were home, you did exactly what you said you would, changed and curled up on your bed. You fished your phone out of your backpack before tossing it to the floor beside your bed. When you turned it on you saw you had a bunch of text messages from your friends asking if you were okay, you decided you’d respond to them in a bit, wanting to text your brother first. 

It took you a few minutes and a few erased attempts before you decided on what to say. Hey, I just wanted to let you know that we’re home. Sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye, dad said you had to get back to work. I love you, talk to you later. And with that you hit send before you began replying to all your friends.

The rest of the night you stayed in your room, texting your friends and watching movies. The housekeeper checked on you a few times, but you didn’t see or hear from your dad at all the rest of the night, which honestly wasn’t that unusual. You may be the favorite, but you were pretty sure he only remembered he had kids when it suited him or he was forced to remember.

Eventually, despite the fact that your head began to throb, you were able to fall asleep. The next morning you were rudely awakened by your alarm clock alerting you that it was time to wake up and get ready for school, which you immediately dreaded after remembering the events of the prior day. You got dressed before picking your phone up and checking it, only to see you got a text from your best friend informing you that Jake had gotten arrested.

Part Two Coming Soon...