#the sick

[hearts4steve]

જ⁀➴ the sick

steve harrington x fem!reader angst with a fluffy ending

set between season 4 and 5

3 years that meant everything got reduced to nothing in the blink of an eye, and you weren’t having it.

you and steve weren’t dating per se, but you also weren’t not dating.

you knew how you took each others coffee, you woke each other up with endless soft kisses, and you knew exactly how to turn a bad day into a good one.

he never asked you to be his girlfriend, and you never questioned it. it had its perks, like being totally free without the restrictions of labels. it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, though. not when he suddenly stopped calling, or picking you up after his shift, or not paying any mind to the knocking coming from the door when he knows damn well it’s you.

you didn’t give up easily. not when whatever you had with steve meant way more to you than it was supposed to. if he didn’t want to see you anymore, that was fine, but you weren’t about to leave without closure. without giving him a piece of your mind for acting like a complete ass.

you climbed in through the kitchen window. you knew he always kept it open, or rather forgot to close it after he initially opened it to get some air in.

he saw sitting on the couch with a cigarette in between his lips. smoking indoors was a new low.

“don’t get ash on your mothers carpet.”

“jesus!” he jumped. “what the fuck?”

“you what the fuck!” you stormed over to him. “what is wrong with you?”

“what’s wrong with me?” he repeated incredulously, putting the cigarette out on the ashtray on the coffee table. “what’s wrong with you?! you think you can just break in?” he stood up and minimized the distance between you two.

“you think you can just go ghost?” you retorted, hands flailing angrily. “you really think i deserve that?”

“i didn’t go ghost! i just stopped putting in unnecessary effort.”

“oh, you fucking liar. is that what you’re telling yourself?”

“you’re not my girlfriend, alright?” he huffed. “i don’t owe you anything.”

it happened before you could even stop it. there wasn’t much thought into it if you were being completely honest. you slapped him across the face.

“you know what i think? i think you realized that this little unlabelled thing we had meant more to you than it should’ve. and i think you got scared, because for some reason you think everyone’s out to get you. i was never going to hurt you, steve. you didn’t have to hurt me first to protect yourself.”

you saw his eyes gloss over before he looked away, jaw clenched and hands on his hips defensively. “that’s not what this is.”

“then what is it, steve? did i do something?”

“it’s not your fault.”

“i don’t believe you.” you said honestly. “if it’s not you being scared of vulnerability, it had to be something i did. let me fix it, steve.” you hadn’t noticed the tear that fell until his eyes trailed down your cheek. you wiped it away with the back of your hand quickly. “as much as i hate to admit it—even after all the bullshit you pulled—i love you. whatever the fuck we have- we had going on, it made me happy. you made me happy. and i care about you so fucking much that i climbed in though your kitchen window to make sure this is what you really wanted.”

silence.

“steve, don’t stare at me. say something.”

“i love you.” his voice was far from stable.

“if you love me why’d you ruin everything? why’d you let it all go?”

“you were right.” he exhaled shakily. “i love you so much it scared me. i realized i wanted you- i needed you way more than i should’ve. my chest physically hurt when you weren’t next to me, and you aren’t even my girlfriend!”

“steve..” you swallowed, taking a step towards him. he didn’t move away.

“i just- i’m scared that you’ll leave. i’m scared that you’ll think i’m bullshit. that whatever we have is bullshit. that you’ll want more, and i can’t give it to you.”

your hands cup his face. “steve, i don’t want more. i just want you. you’re more than enough for me. you’re far from bullshit, i don’t know why your brain would even go there.”

his lips pulled into a frown, one you recognized. a frown that wobbled as it held back sobs that could shake mountains.

you pulled him into a hug and his head rested on your shoulder. you gave his temple a soft kiss. “i love you, steve. let me love you.”

[flouvmai]

The sick - c.s

emotional!reader x player!chris

You met Chris when everything still felt simple.

Senior year. Fluorescent hallways, backpacks slung over one shoulder, him pretending he didn’t care about anything when he actually cared too much. He used to lean against your locker and hum nonsense songs while you tried to focus on your homework. You’d roll your eyes, but you loved it. You loved him.

He was softer with you than he was with anyone else. Matt noticed first. Said Chris looked stupidly in love. Nick never shut up about how whipped he was. And his mom, God, his mom adored you. The first girl she ever pulled into a real hug and whispered, I hope you stay.

You did.

You stayed through graduation. Through his first big fights with his brothers. Through the nights he felt small and insecure and you’d sit on his bedroom floor with him, telling him he was more than his worst thoughts. You memorized the way he looked when he was vulnerable. The way his voice dropped when he said he loved you like it scared him how much he meant it.

You built your whole future around him without even realizing you were doing it.

The first time he cheated, he swore it was a mistake. He cried in your lap like a child. Said he didn’t know why he did it. Said he hated himself. You believed him because you loved him. Because you were eighteen and thought love meant enduring.

The second time, it hurt worse. The third time, something inside you started going quiet.

But you stayed.

You told yourself people grow. You told yourself he would wake up one day and realize you were the only one who never left. You told yourself that if you just loved him hard enough, he’d stop chasing whatever emptiness he kept trying to fill with other girls.

Meanwhile, your own emptiness started growing.

You didn’t tell him about the nights your chest felt too tight to breathe. You didn’t tell him how the anxiety started to hum under your skin constantly, how every time his phone buzzed your stomach dropped. You didn’t tell him how the depression felt like a shadow stretching longer and longer behind you.

You just kept smiling at family dinners. Kept laughing at Nick’s jokes. Kept sitting next to Chris on the couch while his mom looked at you like you were already her daughter.

You became very good at pretending you were okay.

Tonight isn’t dramatic at first. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, the same one you used to curl up on after school. The same one where he used to kiss your forehead and promise you forever.

You found the messages an hour ago.

He hasn’t even denied it. He just keeps saying it wasn’t what it looked like. Like that’s supposed to make it better.

You don’t start screaming right away. You just ask him why.

He shrugs at first. Shrugs. Like this isn’t the same wound reopening for the hundredth time. Like your heart isn’t visibly fraying.

You remind him you’ve been here since the beginning. Since before anyone cared about him. You remind him you defended him when your friends told you to leave. You remind him you forgave him when you probably shouldn’t have.

His jaw tightens. He says you’re acting like he’s a monster.

You laugh, but it sounds hollow. You tell him you don’t think he’s a monster. You think he’s selfish. You think he’s addicted to attention. You think he keeps breaking the one person who never fucking broke him.

His voice rises. He says you’re not perfect either. That you’re always sad lately. Always anxious. That it’s hard to deal with.

That’s when something inside you splits open.

You tell him you’re sad because you never feel safe. You’re anxious because the person you love keeps proving he can’t be trusted. You tell him you’ve been fighting your own head for years and still choosing him every single time.

Your voice starts shaking. You try to steady it but you can’t.

You tell him you wake up every day already tired. That loving him feels like dragging something heavy behind you. That you keep waiting for the version of him who swore he’d protect you, but he’s the one hurting you instead.

He swears under his breath. Says you’re twisting it. Says he’s human. Says he makes mistakes.

You finally snap.

You tell him a mistake doesn’t happen over and over again. A mistake isn’t texting someone behind your girlfriend’s back while she’s at home convincing herself she’s crazy for feeling insecure. A mistake isn’t looking someone in the eye and saying I love you after you just betrayed them.

You’re crying now, and you hate that he can see it.

You tell him you thought he was the one. That you pictured marrying him. That you defended him to Matt when even his own brother was disappointed. That you stood there while Nick avoided eye contact because he knew you deserved better.

You tell him you gave him every fucking chance.

He tries to step closer and you step back.

You tell him every time he cheated, it felt like you swallowed something toxic. Like you kept ingesting poison and pretending it didn’t burn. You kept thinking if you just held it down long enough, it wouldn’t kill you.

But it did.

It’s killing you.

Your voice cracks so violently you have to grab the dresser to steady yourself. You tell him you’re exhausted from loving someone who treats your loyalty like it’s guaranteed. You tell him you’ve been drowning quietly for years and he never noticed because you were too busy keeping him afloat.

He finally looks scared.

He says he didn’t think you’d actually leave.

That breaks something fundamental inside you.

So he kept pushing. Because he thought you’d stay no matter how much it hurt.

You’re sobbing now, full-body shaking, the kind of crying that makes it hard to breathe. You tell him you’re not dramatic. You’re not crazy. You’re just tired of being the only one fighting for this relationship.

You tell him you loved him in a way that ruined you.

He starts crying too, apologizing without the usual excuses this time. Saying he’s fucked up. Saying he didn’t realize how deep it went. Saying he never meant to make your mental health worse.

You look at him through blurred vision and whisper that intent doesn’t erase damage.

You tell him you can’t keep sacrificing yourself for someone who keeps choosing temporary validation over permanent love. You tell him you feel like you’ve been rotting from the inside while pretending everything was fine.

The room feels suffocating. Years of history pressing down on both of you.

You say you love him. Because you do. And that’s what makes it unbearable.

But you can’t survive him anymore.

There’s a long silence. His breathing is uneven. Yours is worse.

And then, bitter and defensive and wounded, he shakes his head and mutters that you’re impossible to please. That nothing he does is ever enough. That maybe you just like being miserable.

You stare at him, stunned.

And then he says it…

You’re sick y/n, you’re fucking sick.

Not worried. Not gentle. Not concerned.

The word hangs in the air between you like a final betrayal.

And for the first time since high school, since lockers and humming and promises, you feel something colder than heartbreak.

[givememysoupback]

“I love it when we fight and I like it when you’re mean / we don’t have to get into what that says about me” I have a jegulus shaped hole in my heart.

[portraitsofsaints]

Saint Camillus de Lellis

1550-1614

Feast Day: July 18

Patronage: the sick, physicians, nurses, hospitals, doctors

Saint Camillus de Lellis was an Italian soldier that overcame his gambling habit and other vices to become a Capuchin Priest. After he received permission from his confessor, St. Philip Neri, he founded the Camillian order to minister to the sick and wounded soldiers, building hospitals and the first field medical units in the battlefield. The red cross symbol was their sign of charity and service. After years of suffering from a battle wound, he died in Rome.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase. (website)

[67ficz]

- I love it when we fight

And I like it when you’re mean

We don’t have to get into what says about

me

[sweetvelvetdark]

the sick, bella kay // sharp objects, gillian flynn

[freefallvertigo]

the sick part II: poacher's pride

chapter IV: there will be no flowers

“This is going to hurt,” says Lottie, digging the knife harder against the underside of her jaw. “Hold on to me, baby.”

Status: Complete

Read it here [AO3]