#chronically ill reader

[thesecondhandwoman]

I’ll think of the jist

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

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

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

lol thank you goodbye

MORE THAN ENOUGH

Ambessa x f!reader

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

Request: @possessedmagpie

A/N: This is part two of Chronically Ill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the moment was short-lived.

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

Your chest tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room fell silent.

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

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

No one dared respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Little one,” Ambessa said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[witchbitchlovesdilfs]

Pain Relief Pt. 4

Jack Abbot x chronically ill f!reader

series masterlist

synopsis: reader's flaring, and keira calls the only person who can help

warnings: jack's past as a combat medic, reader has pots, pain/chronic illness, pills, language

words: 1k

a/n: kinda self indulgent because i'm having a bad pain day, and it got me wondering how jack would comfort reader. hoping y'all like it!

A few days after your painting date, you had Jack over for lasagna. He and Keira hit it off well, both making jokes at your expense, and although the food wasn’t great, Jack ate it all. Three days after that, the two of you took a stroll through the park, gossiping about Jack’s co-workers and sharing book recs. 

Things were good. Scratch that, things were great.

And then your body had to fuck it all up and shut down on you. Again.

You had another date planned - a trip to the movie theater to watch the newest horror film - but the second you woke up, you knew there was no way you were getting out of bed.

After an hour of laying on your stomach with your hands tucked under the pillow to reduce the sensation in them and sequentially the pain, you sighed and grabbed your phone, sending Jack a quick apology and cancelling your date for that afternoon.

By noon, you still hadn’t moved out of bed. At ten, Keira waltzed in with pancakes and cranberry juice and set a tray on your bedside table. Thankfully, you’d set up all your meds in the top drawer of said table, and although it was late, you took all the pills you needed that morning and shovelled the pancakes down. 

You immediately regretted that.

Now you were not only fatigued and in pain, but you were nauseous. You were hot - so hot - and although you remained stagnant, your head was spinning.

But you really had to pee.

Deciding to risk it all, you lifted yourself slowly to your feet and clutched onto the table to stabilize yourself. You made it all of two feet before the world went spinning and you stumbled to your knees before laying flat on the floor.

Hearing the thud, Keira threw the door open to find you in a snow angel position. “That’s it, I’m calling Jack.”

“No,” you cried out. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Keira quirked her brow at you. “Okay, then stand up.”

You tried, you really did, but despite all your effort and determination to keep Jack from seeing you like this, you couldn’t move a muscle.

“I’m calling him,” Keira announced, snatching your phone and unlocking it. You’ll have to ask her later how she knows the password. Holding it up to her ear, Keira hardly had to wait before Jack answered. 

You could barely make out what Keira was saying, your head was so fuzzy. You decided to let her handle it and shut your eyes to quell the growing migraine behind your eyes.

It felt like hours went by before you heard voices in the hall. Keira was saying something as she and Jack headed towards your room, and you steeled yourself for this confrontation. 

The door opens, and Jack walks in. He’s got those scrubs on again, his signature scowl wrinkling his eyes and forehead as he lowers himself to his knees beside you.

“Hey,” you say weakly.

Jack just stares. He stretches his legs out, slides onto his back, and lays on the floor exactly like you are.

“That’ll hurt your back,” you tell him with a frown.

“Yours too.”

You shut up real quick.

Jack sighs as he watches you. “Bad pain day?”

“Yeah.” 

“Did you take any painkillers?”

“I took a Tylenol, but it didn’t do anything.”

He nods softly. “Do you need to go to the ER?”

You shake your head frantically and moan at the pain the sudden movement brings on. “I don’t want my first time meeting your friends to be over barf bags and morphine.”

His eyes crinkle. “I wish you told me you weren’t feeling good.”

“I never feel good,” you scoff dryly. “Besides, if I called every time something hurt, you’d have to start silencing notifications.”

Jack frowns at this. 

“I’m sorry Keira called,” you say. “You were probably busy saving somebody’s life.”

“Hey,” he says sharply, taking your face in his hands, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make yourself feel like you’re a burden.” He squeezes your jaw briefly to emphasize this. “Because you’re not.”

Your heart breaks. “Jack,” you croak out.

“What can I do to make it better?”

“Can you get me back in bed?”

Jack smiles at you softly, and then he’s standing, bending over, and scooping you up like you weigh nothing. He sets you down on the bed gently and shifts his feet awkwardly as you situate yourself.

You pat the spot next to you, and he’s instantly there. He’d do anything for you, he realizes. Anything to take your pain away and help you feel a moment of peace.

“Can you hold me?” you ask weakly, turning to your side to face him. “I need the compression…and the comfort.” If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d be blushing.

Jack tilts his head down at this, because for some reason he’s prone to flushing around you. But he nods and takes you into his arms, pulling you close and applying just the right amount of pressure.

He breathes in the moment, inhaling your shampoo and burying his face into your hair. He rubs circles into your sides. “I told you I was a combat medic?”

You nod.

“I saw a lot,” he says. “Most men out there hid when things got bad or cried when the bullets began to fly. But some of them were strong.” He pauses, pulling back to look at you. “You’re strong.”

You smile at him and nuzzle closer. “Do you need to take off the leg?” you ask quietly.

Jack flushes at the thoughtfulness. Here you are, in such excruciating pain that you can’t move, and you somehow worry more about him than yourself. 

“I’m fine,” he says into your hair. “This is about you.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

Before you know it, you’re finally falling asleep, Jack pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple before letting himself follow.

Taglist:

@miraclesabound @qardasngan @mads198-9 emma8895eb @celiacallsitcausal @interestellarprincess @kmc1989 @wisps-writes-fic @queerroyalty58

[thatguywrites]

Oscar Piastri and Lily Zneimer with Chronically Ill reader

This honestly applies to all chronic conditions, and I left it kinda vague lol

When you told Oscar and Lily that you had a chronic illness, you expected him to break up with you, like your past partner had

But instead they took you in their arms and told you they weren't scared of your illness

They always make sure that you take your meds

It's part of your nightly routine

Whenever you have to go to the hospital, or doctor, they'll always go with you if you want

For any long term hospital visits they make sure that at least one of them is with you at all times

Hospitals are stressful, no matter how many times you've been to them

And after every appointment they'll pull you into bed to talk about it

They'll hold you close whether it's good news or bad news

Whenever you can't travel, Lily will stay at home with you

The two of you send pictures of you cuddled in bed watching quali and the race to Oscar

He always gets kinda jealous

When you do come to a race Oscar makes sure that his drivers room is as comfortable as possible

There is a replica of your chronic illness cart, the most comfortable bed imaginable, and a fridge stocked with feel good and healthy foods

Whenever you can't get around, they'll put all their focus into you

Making sure you can reach your mobility aids, bringing you anything you need so you don't need to get up and use excess energy

Oscar loves carrying you in bridal carry around the flat

Lily has gotten into cooking meals that can easily be reheated for the days were you don't have energy, and are very nutrient dense

All the calculations are kinda like engineering to her

Every time you get anxious about your illness, they'll hold you close and re-promise that they'll never leave you

In sickness and in health, even if you guys aren't married yet

Taglist: (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @lokisen @op-81-lvr-reblogs

[abriefnirvana]

We need more reader inserts with a chronically ill reader. That’s it. That’s the post.

[callsign-rogueone]

defective

Bodhi Durran x reader, Brennan Sorrengail & reader words: 1.7k 🏷️: did somebody say more chronically ill reader? with sweet baby Bodhi this time, and reader with a heart condition. negativity about illness / reader thinking they’re weak, others calling them weak / defective / etc., but not Bodhi or Brennan (they would never.) Brennan makes an appearance as an older brother figure, reader is referred to as she/her and a girl by members of the assembly but not by Bodhi. I think cuddling Bodhi would cure me of all my ills. I got the idea for this the other day when I went up stairs carrying a laundry basket and almost fainted. I would not make it up to the parapet, let alone be able to cross it lmao. anyway, here, have this. already plotting a part two of them reuniting after Resson 🥺

The assembly are too busy arguing to notice you standing in the doorway — arguing about you, you realize quickly.

“We can’t send her to her death.”

“We’ve been forced to send 15 to their potential deaths so far, with 92 more to go. Why is she any different from the rest?”

“You know damn well why, Ulices,” Brennan snaps. “Everyone else has a fighting chance, but there’s no way she’s going to survive the parapet, let alone the rest of the year.”

“There’s 250 steps up to the parapet. She won’t even make it to the top,” another voice adds.

“There’s still time to fix that. They don’t leave for another three months.”

“You can’t fix her,” Trissa says firmly. “No amount of  time in the gym will change the fact that she’s defective. She’ll never be able to do the things that the others can. She’s too weak.”

The word echoes in your ears. Defective. 

Your gaze falls to the empty chair — Xaden’s chair. What would he say if he was here? Would he let them call you weak? What would he say? Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t know. It would only hurt you to hear that the boy you’ve always idolized and regarded as an older brother call you weak and pathetic.

“So what would you have us do?” Felix asks.

“Either we send her with the rest, knowing her name will be at the top of the death roll on conscription day, and her blood will coat our hands forever, or we tell Navarre that she died, and keep her here. It should be believable enough that the weakling girl with the heart problem died young. It’s a miracle she hasn’t died already.”

Tears blur your vision, and you bring a hand up to swipe them away with your sleeve. The whisper of the fabric moving is enough to give you away; five heads turn toward the door, seeing you standing there.

Something compels you to run away — likely the fact that you’d been caught eavesdropping by the entire assembly. These meetings aren’t secret, but there’s an unwritten rule that the kids aren’t invited, especially if it isn’t a routine meeting.

Brennan calls your name, but you ignore him, moving faster, intent on getting back to the room you’ve been sleeping in and shutting the door in his face so you can cry alone in peace.

He catches up with you quickly, his strides longer and his movements faster. He lays a gentle hand on your arm. “Hey,” he coaxes. 

You stop and turn toward him, knowing that you can’t run again — he’s faster than you, and moving would also be a very bad idea right now; you feel like you’re going to fall over.

“I’m so sorry, kid.”

“Not your fault,” you rasp, fumbling for the wall and pressing your hand into it to support yourself. 

“Hold on to me,” he instructs. “Can I check your pulse?”

You nod, regretting the motion when it makes your head spin faster, and wrap your hand around his forearm, using him as an anchor to hold yourself up.

“Attagirl. Keep breathing.”

You work on deepening your breaths, filling your lungs all the way before you exhale, like he’d taught you last year.

Hot, frustrated tears slip down your cheeks. 

They’re right. You are defective. You can’t even run down a hallway without your body giving up on you. You wouldn’t be able to get up to the parapet, let alone cross it after that exertion — you can hardly stand right now. 

“Talk to me,” he asks after a moment. 

“I don’t want to go,” you say softly, “but to stay here, and let all my friends go where I can’t ever see them or help them, knowing they could die any day…”

“I know. I felt the same way when my sister started, but she’s a full fledged Captain now. Commands her own unit in Montserrat,” he says quietly, but it sounds like it pains him to say it — to tell you that she’s on the other side of the fight. “They’re all strong, they’ll make it through. And they’ll have each other to lean on.”

You nod again, and this time it doesn’t make you dizzy. “Yeah,” you say hollowly. “They’re strong.”

He immediately knows what you’re getting at. “Hey. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re just at too much of a disadvantage to risk it. Your strengths lie elsewhere— not in the physical.”

“If only we could be scribes,” you sigh.

“If only,” he says softly. “My youngest sister is going to start in the scribe’s quadrant the year after this. She’s a lot like you, actually. She was born with an issue with her bones. She’s got a heart of gold, though. And she’s incredibly smart, like you. I think you’d get along well.”

“If it wasn’t for this, yeah,” you say quietly, looking down at your relic. 

He tries to hide his wince, but it doesn’t quite work. “I think she’d come around once she realized how great you are.”

“Whatever they decide, can you be the one to tell me? Alone?” you ask in a small voice. “I don’t want to see the looks on their faces. I know I’m an embarrassment to them, but I don’t want to be reminded of it.”

“You aren’t an embarrassment,” he chides softly. “But of course. I can tell you when they make their decision.”

“Thank you.”

He opens his arms to you. “C’mere, kid.” 

You step forward, letting him guide you into a gentle embrace. 

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask into his shoulder.

“For surviving. For not giving up. For dealing with your symptoms every day and not letting it break you. For so many things. You’re amazing.”

“I don’t feel amazing.” 

“That’s okay. I hope you will someday, though.”

“Someday,” you agree softly.

“Alright. Let’s get you back to your room.”

You nod, keeping a hand on his arm while he walks with you. He’s slowed his steps to match yours, but he doesn’t show any sign of impatience.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“Of course, sweet girl. Get some rest. Bodhi should be back in a few hours.”

Your cheeks warm as you realize that Brennan knows about whatever you two have going on — you don’t call yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, but you’re very close, and there’s definitely a spark there. 

He drops a kiss to the top of your head, waiting to make sure you’re safely inside your room before he heads back down the hall. 

———————

Bodhi shows up around sunset, his hair damp from the showers. He sits beside you on the edge of your bed, leaning back against the pillows. “Hi, lovie.”

“Hi.”

He tilts your chin up with a gentle movement of his knuckle, seeing the tears in your eyes. “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not going to Basgiath,” you admit quietly.

“What?”

“The assembly decided that I’m too weak to even make it up the stairs to the parapet,” you answer, your voice wavering. “They’re going to tell Navarre that I died, because of my heart problem.”

Why are you crying again? You went over all this with Brennan already and got it out of your system — but evidently not.

Bodhi looks conflicted. You watch the gears turn, and see him weigh the good and the bad. You won’t have to endure everything riders are put through, and the assembly is right, you wouldn’t survive it. But to stay here while everyone else risks their lives, with no way to communicate with them, would be crushing. And if you’re found out, Xaden’s life will end along with yours.

He gathers you up into his lap, holding you close. He smells good, clean — soap and the tiniest bit of cologne, something warm and woody. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I am too,” you sniff. “I wish I could be there with you, but…”

“It’s for the best,” he says gently. “I’d rather you be here, safe with Bren and the elders, than overworking yourself every day, and making things worse.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I still feel guilty about it, though.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just how you were made. And you know it doesn’t change the way that any of us feel about you. We all love you so much, because you’re you, and you’re our friend.”

“Love you too,” you sniff. “M’ gonna miss you so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m going to miss you too, every day. But I promise I’ll write — I know first years can’t send letters, but I’ll ask Xaden or Gare to send it for me. They’ll probably have to sign their names on it, and address it to someone else, but you’ll know it’s from me by the handwriting.”

That makes you feel a little better, but you’re still worried. “But when you graduate, and move across the continent…”

“Then I’ll come visit you here, as often as I can. Maybe I’ll be closeby. Or maybe Tyrrendor will be freed by then.”

“Maybe,” you sigh. 

“I don’t want you to think for even a second that this means I’m letting go of you,” he says firmly. “You’re stuck with me, even if we’re apart, okay?”

“Okay,” you say quietly. 

“Good. Now, I have had a very long day of having my ass kicked by Imogen, and I’d like to spend the rest of it laying here with my favorite person.”

You’re his favorite person? You must be looking at him in disbelief, because he laughs lightly, his chest shaking against yours. “Yes, you. I thought it was obvious. You’re the one I spend all my time with.”

“You’re my favorite person too,” you say softly. 

He smiles. “I’m glad we sorted that out. Get comfy.”

You scoot off of his lap, settling down on the mattress. He slots himself in beside you, letting you work your way under his arm to rest your head on his chest. He’s put on a considerable amount of muscle in the last few months, and it’s so nice to rest your body against his like this, a strong arm keeping you in place as he reaches toward the foot of the bed for a blanket to drape over the both of you. 

You hum sleepily, content to rest in the warmth of his body and the softness of the blanket.

“This good?”

“Perfect,” you murmur. 

“Perfect indeed,” he agrees softly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and wrapping his fingers around your wrist, resting his thumb over your pulse point. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“G’night, Bo.”

[bisexual-apocalypse]

John Price with a chronically ill reader who uses crutches and has a service dog (definitely not projecting nahhhhh).

sorry if this is shit, it’s 2am. also i don’t say it in this but reader has EDS and POTS in my vision of them (again, definitely not projecting 👀)

You’re in the corner store just to grab a soda and some chips for a friends night in when your service dog gives you the first alert that you should sit down. You ignore her because, “I’ll be fine”

You were not fine. Less than a minute later and you start to get tunnel vision, everything sounds like it’s underwater, you’re going to pass out. You give your dog the command to lead you to a place to sit. Coming to a wall of the store you lower yourself to the ground, setting your crutches to each side of you so you can get up again when you’re ready. With what little strength you have, you manage to text your friend to let them know where you are and that you’re passing out.

Then, you pass out. Nothing new, this is a normal occurrence. But when John walks to the back of the store to grab some chips and sees you, out against the wall, he gets concerned. He notices your service dog and crutches but you’re alone, at around 9pm, in a corner store, and unconscious.

He’s unsure of what to do. You have a service dog who’s not acting on anything, which must mean it doesn’t have any command to follow on with, and you are not visibly injured. But he can’t just leave you here alone.

[fuzedatti]

am's interaction with a chronically ill, sick and disabled favorite human of his? one so plagued with their own natural suffering that his barely fazes them.

AM with a disabled/chronically ill favorite human.

// cw hospital mention, AM being AM //

Ah, I have been waiting for this kind of ask for a while.

AM despises humans with all of his hollow soul. He wishes he could move freely, dance without pain, love without consequences.

And he finds you. You, the sick, the fallen, the blind and the ill, are different from the others; AM can't even comprehend how a human, who is supposed to be capable of anything, is in so much pain of its own. AM understands, and he grows fond of you.

The supercomputer begans to care about you. He no longers inflicts pain on you, preferring to isolate you from the others and force you to talk about... you.

AM is a strange being. He doesn't force you into these interrogations just "because", he wants to learn about you, he wants to help you. Either way it hurts you, its not easy to talk about your disabilities/illnes with your tormentor, who knows what kind of unspeakable horrors he will apply to you with said information.

Yet, when you finally open up and talk about it, he becomes very caring to you and only you. AM brings you meds to aid your pain, he lets you have decent mobility aids, he even constructed a special, secret room for when your body just can't go any longer; its like a mini hospital where you can rest.

AM knows that you are not the biggest fan of hospitals, but thats just part of his "love". At the end, he wants you to know that he sees you as an equal regarding pain. AM understands how infuriating it is to only wish to do things others can do so easily.

He couldn't visualize himself in love. How can someone love him with his horrid scars, old eyes & ears, broken legs and curved back. But you, oh you adored every bit, every line of his skin. Because you and him shared the pain no one else could knew in the end of the world.

For a moment, AM was loved, and so were you.

[mewnewew]

Sir Crocodile x Chronically ill!Reader pt.2

Hello, hello, yes this might be a continuing series. Don't worry I'll drop other pieces occasionally but this seems interesting to work with. You miiiiiiight find it on ao3 as well, so keep an eye out! Uh this picture does not belong to me and I just found it off Google I'm so sorry- pt.1 pt.3

Some years later, this newfound closeness between you two grew. So did your sickness. One of the doctors recommended a medicine that was particularly harsh in terms of side effects. Vomiting, and fevers, it was one of the worst you had. What really surprised you was the fact that Crocodile had appointed some people to help.

"You know I can handle myself, no?" You said, having strode into his office to confront him.

He eyed you, then puffed out a cloud of smoke, before taking out the cigar.

"I got them, so that it's easier for you. Not for babying you. I know you can handle it." He stood up suddenly, walking to come beside you placing a hand on your shoulder.

"We both know how it feels to be babied. I wouldn't put that feeling on you of all people." He whispered in your ear, bending down before moving on.

He walked off, leaving you to wonder if maybe you'd just hallucinated it all.

Not long after, it was winter. That night you were shivering in bed, having woken up due to the cold, and no matter what you did, you were just so damn cold. So you did what felt more comfortable, and that was to pull the blankets over your head curling up into a little ball.

It seemed to work, till the blanket got pulled off you by a bemused Crocodile.

"What are you doing?"

"It's cold" you said, with chattering teeth as you stared up at him. You felt and assumed that you looked like a wet, pathetic kitten. You definitely felt like one anyway. You tucked your feet underneath you now, unable to suppress the shiver from the rest of your body now no longer under the blanket. Your arms were wrapped around you. You felt like a hen....

Crocodile watched you for a few more seconds then wordlessly started changing into his daily nightwear, and you just reached for the blanket again. Both of you gave each other space when it came to changing, an unspoken rule of not staring at the other.

But what surprised you was that when he got into bed, he tugged you close to him, his hand snaking around you to tuck you close to him. You froze, but let out a sigh when you felt his body heat, your hands splayed over his side. You felt him hum at the sensation, watching as he laid his stump over his abdomen.

"Thanks." You whispered in the quiet of the night, you hear him huff.

"Go to sleep."

The next morning you woke up curled into him entirely, with his face inches away from yours upwards. You blink slowly, watching him. At some point, he'd turned onto his side so he was facing you, also somewhat curled into you. His hand had curled underneath you to rest on your hip, and you could feel its warmth seeping through your clothes. His other arm was behind your back, resting on the bed behind you. Thus both arms were effectively caging you in. You could feel his breath tickling your hair, your legs tangled with his.

You watched him for a while, before starting to wonder whether to get up. On one hand, you were quite comfy and warm. On the other.....you had to get up, also take your medicine. You tried to gently pry his hand off, trying to wriggle away, when you felt the arm behind you push you close. So that his chin was touching your crown.

"Stay" He said, his voice was more rough having just woken up.

You shifted slightly backwards so that you were now looking up at him, eyes meeting his.

His hand, famed for causing sandstorms able to destroy towns and cities, destroying all that came in the way of his sand, came up, cupping your cheek. It was somewhere between rough and smooth, but the main thing you focused on was that it was positioned on your skin as if your skin was something delicate.

You didn't break eye contact with him, but closed your eyes when he shifted you closer to place a kiss on your forehead again, before tucking your head under his chin.

"I know that you have to take your medicine in an hour. So just sleep, I'll wake you."

You sighed, allowing yourself to melt into his warmth, closing your eyes and drifting back into the warm sea of sleep.

And so things changed.

There was a certain flame slowly growing. Something small was in the process of blooming.

[bugs1nmybrain]

First of all, love your writing! I especially love reading your headcanons 😁

Would it be alright to ask for headcanons on how Stein would be with a S/O that’s chronically ill/has a weak immune system? Like winters for them are hell because they know they’re gonna catch a cold come September and coughing fits, doctors visits and medication refills are just apart of their daily routine(may or may not be speaking from experience TTwTT)

🤍⚡️Franken Stein (Soul Eater) x Immuno-compromised Reader 🔩 🩺

I haven't written for Stein in forever!!! I hope I write this with sensitivity! I'll research a bit on it to make sure I write this as accurate as I can.

Warnings: Gender neutral reader, sfw, chronically ill reader, not proofread yet

Mister Doctor man is on the case!

If you don't tell him upfront that you have a weak immune system, he'll notice quick that you seem to be constantly under the weather

Will pry about it, and ask you if this is regular for you

When you tell him that you're chronically ill, it isn't a surprise. He'll help

Stein is proficient in most areas of medical care, so he'll make sure your medications are constantly available to you and even offer to be your personal domestic doctor. You'll tell him it's a conflict of interest as a joke, but he insists

He knows how to make sure you're as comfortable as you can be, making sure you're properly nourished and getting meals that incorporate a proper amount of vitamins

It isn't exactly a cure, but it helps

If you're feel especially sick, he encourages rest. If you need doctors' notes for work or college or the like, he's on it.

He doesn't treat you like you're made of glass or anything because he knows better, but he's definitely vigilant of your symptoms and reminds you to make sure you're taking your medicine and taking it easy if you're having a hard time

Coughing fits don't gross him out and he'll be there to help you feel better however he can

Will hound on treatment regimens

He'll try soooo hard not to ask if he can dissect you

Ofc will remind you to wash your hands regularly, but he knows you're already aware of that. His reminders are more his way of telling you he cares about your wellbeing and that he loves you (don't let him convince you that he doesn't)

If you need someone by your side when you're bedridden, he's there. Even if he has to take off time from work, he will, and don't feel guilty for it. He'll sit beside you and have the silliest conversations with you, whether they are theoretical or just casual talk. If you win him over he'll snuggle, but this man is TALL so get yourself a big bed, okay?

He will try to keep his smoke out of your face so that it doesn't stuff you up

He's here to help you to the best of his abilities. He can only imagine how hard it is, but he's a smart guy. He'll take care to make sure you're as healthy as possible.

[witchbitchlovesdilfs]

Pain Relief Pt. 3

Jack Abbot x chronically ill f!reader

series masterlist, pt 4

synopsis: jack immediately regrets asking you to paint him when you leave him a blushing, stuttering mess

warnings: fluff! some angst? reader has chronic illness, jack lost his leg in the war, suggestive

words: 1.2k

a/c: i was going to write this tomorrow but got too excited. let me know what you'd like to see next!

“Nice place.”

You blush as you step aside so Jack can enter. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious,” he says, taking off his shoes as you lock the apartment door. “It’s a nice area.”

Nodding, you take his jacket and hang it on the coat rack. When you turn, you take in Jack’s appearance. “No scrubs today, huh?”

He shrugs, looking down at the white t-shirt and loose pair of jeans. “It’s my day off.”

“Oh,” you realize that of course it is - he usually works at this hour. “Well, thanks for choosing me to spend it with.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, studying the way you squirm under his gaze and taking in the pale blue button-down you’re wearing, the way it falls over your shorts, spotlighting your legs. When he tilts his head back up, slowly, you’re smiling so brightly it lights up your eyes.

“What?” he asks, crossing his arms self consciously.

You bite your lips to hinder the smile. “Nothing.”

A door further in the apartment shuts, and a woman about your age with light brunette hair struts out. “So you’re the famous Jack,” she says, stuffing her phone into her purse and plucking her car keys from the key bowl. 

“Keira?” Jack guesses.

She nods and slips on her shoes. “I gotta go out, but we have to invite you over for dinner sometime to chat. I’ve heard lots of good things.”

You blush, and Jack grins. “I sure hope so.”

“I’ll make lasagna,” Keira decides, scooting between the two of you and heading out the door, but not before telling you to “Have fun, Lovebirds” and winking goodbye.

You lock the door behind her, bracing your back against it like you’re fortifying a wall.

“She seems nice,” Jack says, still grinning.

You chuckle, pushing yourself from the door and past him. “She’s a terrible cook. I’ll order a pizza or something.”

Jack chuckles, following as you give a tour of what you call home. The living room is spacious despite the massive couch taking up space across from the tv, and the kitchen, while small, is pristine and homey. “You’ve caught me on a good day,” you tell him. “I did the dishes and everything. Very productive.”

When you lead Jack to your room, he gulps with anticipation as you push the door open.

It’s very you, and Jack means that as the biggest compliment. Your room is welcoming, artsy, and decorated by various posters and figures representing your interests. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say nervously, holding your arms out like you’re Tony Stark. “This is where the lovemaking happens.”

Jack startles, and you bend over with laughter. “I’m just joking,” you assure him, wiping tears from your eyes and moving to riffle through the art materials at your desk. “Where are you most comfortable?”

“What?” he chokes, looking up from the floor.

You nudge your chin in the direction of his leg. “Where do you want to sit? My bed’s got a super fluffy mattress, so maybe the chair out in the living room? It’s a lot sturdier. But my desk chair is higher and stiffer if you want the support.”

Jack blinks. He’s not used to being accommodated like this. “I should be fine in the living room,” he decides, watching in awe as you collect your tools, oblivious to his staring. 

“Alright,” you say, dropping your stuff onto one of the chairs beside the couch before heading back to your room for an easel. Jack takes the seat across from you as you come back.

“Full body or just head?” you ask, and Jack chokes. You’re setting up your canvas, watching him expectantly. 

Oh, to draw. “What’s easier?”

“Do you want to take your leg off?” You’re very to the point with your questions, and Jack feels like you see directly through him.

“Is it okay?” he asks shyly.

You nod like it’s obvious. “I want you to be comfortable.”

He softens at this, and then he’s leaning down to pull up his pants leg and take off the prosthetic. You watch silently as he sets it to the side, massaging the skin it was once attached to. 

Jack looks up at you, scared of what expression you’ll have on your face. Pity? Disgust? But he is met with nothing but love and understanding. “Full body or just head?” you ask again, and Jack understands the deeper meaning. Is he ready to accept that this is who he is and let you paint all of him in his vulnerability? Meeting your soft gaze, Jack makes his decision. “Full body.”

You smile at him, almost proudly, and pluck a paintbrush from your pile. “Sit however you want. But remember you can’t move.” Your eyes flicker mischievously. “Or I’ll have to tie you down.”

Jack blushes, looking down at your hands as you take out several paints, waiting patiently. He moves into a position that feels right and nods that you can start.

You’re quiet as you paint, the brushstrokes against paper lulling him into a daze. Jack watches your face as you concentrate, noting every time you scrunch your nose or squint your eyes. When you meet his gaze to study him back, he blushes. This repeats several times before you’re speaking up.

“If you keep blushing, I’ll have to add more contrast,” you note. Your voice is monotone, but you’re grinning.

Jack can only nod.

You call for a break after forty minutes. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Water will do just fine,” he says, adjusting in the seat and pulling out his phone to see a text from Robby.

How’s the date going? Is she painting you like one of her French girls?

Shaking his head in exasperation, Jack puts the phone back down just as you come back in. You hand him a glass of cold water, and he drinks it gratefully before setting it on the coffee table. “Can I see it so far?”

“Not until it’s finished! Don’t rush perfection.”

Jack huffs, but there’s a smile on his face. He settles back into position and lets you do your magic.

Twenty five minutes later, you proudly set your brush aside and step back to check for any errors. “I guess it’ll do,” you decide, standing to approach him. “It doesn’t capture all of that handsome ruggedness you’ve got going on, but it might just be one of my best works.”

Jack takes the canvas from you, and his jaw drops when he slides his reading glasses on so he can see your painting. You’ve detailed him and the chair with such care and precision, blurring the backdrop like Jack’s all that matters. As he stares in silence and awe, Jack realizes that this is how you see him. And he looks good. When Jack lifts the canvas closer to his face, he sees the worshipping way in which he looks back at you.

Jack’s falling for you, fast. And he doesn’t want to ever stop. 

Taglist:

@miraclesabound @qardasngan @mads198-9 emma8895eb @celiacallsitcausal @interestellarprincess @kmc1989 @wisps-writes-fic

[armyangxls]

About me: My name is Lexi, I’m 21, Queer, Christian writer, editor, neurodivergent, and my pronouns are she/they

About my stories: Most of my stories are written as chronically ill/ achy body gender neutral readers! And all are autistic queer plus size readers!

What I post: fandom stuff, fanfics, stories, icons, gifs, fancasts, stimboards, etc

My f/os: Tex Sawyer, Bo Sinclair, Richie Kirsch, Evan Buckley, Ticci Toby, Ryan Hudson, Corey Cunningham, Henry Creel, Mike Munroe, Chris Halliwell, Gilbert Blythe, Johnny Sawyer, Cooper Adams, Herr König, Adam Maitland, Wadsworth (Clue), Travis Hackett and like any Ted Raimi character, Sayid Jarrah, Albert Wesker, etc

Random favorite things: Scooby Doo, non sketchy storms, St. Augustine FL, cozy days, horror media, video games, board games, cartoons, road trips, cozy spooky media, ghosts, period media, dusk, Ghibli movies, foggy days, witchy stuff, mysteries, celestial stuff, decorations, paranormal!

Favorite aesthetics: whimsigoth, fairy Grunge, tropical girl, spooky coastal town, anything cozy or spooky!

Favorite music: Chase Atlantic, Chappell Roan, Ethel Cain, Brye, Isabel LaRosa, She Wants Revenge, BTS, TV girl, Taylor Swift, Conan Gray, Fleetwood Mac, Olivia Rodrigo, The Neighborhood, Lovelytheband, Mazzy Star, Melanie Martinez, Halsey!

Favorite YouTubers: Jake Webber, Johnnie Gilbert, Sam and Colby, Loey Lane, Trek Trendy, Jessii Vee!

Fandoms: BTS, The Vampire Diaries, Encanto, Stranger Things, DC Stargirl, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Fear Street, Scream, The Lost Boys, Outer Banks, 9-1-1, 9-1-1 Lone Star, The Crow, Halloween, Nancy Drew, Lisa Frankenstein, House Of Wax, Pretty Little Liars, Elvis (2022), Bridgerton, Are You Afraid of The Dark?, Fate The Winx Saga, Anne of Green Gables (1985-), Riverdale, The Maze Runner, Creepypasta, Marble Hornets, American Horror Story & Stories, Harry Potter (anti JKR), Fantastic Beasts, Scream TV Series, Charmed, Dead By Daylight, My Babysitter’s A Vampire, Sense and Sensibility, I Am Not Okay With This, Love Victor, It (2017), Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, The Strangers Prey at Night, Rizzoli And Isles, Texas Chainsaw Massacre game, Five Nights At Freddy's, Abigail, Trap, Beetlejuice Lost, Found, CBS Ghost, Clue, Degrassi, etc

Social Medias: @btsarmygirl417 Edit Instagram TikTok @starry-ghost-tour my reblog account @whimsyspookyloves my f/o account

Playlist: Character playlists Part Two Monthly Playlist

DNI: Racists, Homophobos, Transphobos, pro-eds, fatphobos, ableists, Trump Supporters, Nazis, Proshipers, anti self-diagnose, conservatives, etc

Taglists: Stranger Things Taglist Scream Taglist Stargirl taglist Fear Street taglist

Masterlists: Writing Masterlist Gif Masterlist Test Posts Masterlist Fancasts Masterlist Icons Masterlist

Show and tell f/os: Part One Two three

🔮🕯️🎃🧸🥳👽🎃🔮👻🐇📽️🎃🕯️🔮

[kodiackwrites]

Willy wonka x chronically ill reader, warnings of doctor and sickness talk! (I have chrons & POTS so this is roughly based on those diagnoses but there’s no mention of set issue)

Willy wonka who’s partner is chronically ill but the doctors can’t find any diagnosis or treatment.

Willy wonka who sits by your side through every trip to the doctor, on the bathroom floor during bad nights, taking note of foods and other triggers.

One day in specific, the day was going well you felt decent for the first time in a while, so Willy takes you to walk around town and sight see. But your head started spinning, your legs felt light, and suddenly you couldn’t hold yourself up, usually you’d have crutches for this, but you’d left them at home. And of course Willy would always support you.

One day, things were bad, you couldn’t leave your bed or the ball you were curled into, dearly clutching a giraffe plushy will had bought you. Will had left to grab you water, and rushed back into your room with light weight, not making too much noise, “I’m so sorry honey I’m back, I’m right here.” He said bringing over your water, placing it right by your side, You weakly looked up to meet his eyes, tears fighting to fall down your face. His expression filled with sorrow as he brought a hand to your chin, carefully listing your face to place a kiss on your cheek, before crawling into bed by your side, you looked to your water, seeing a small chocolate, It was in the shape of a heart, with purple and blue streaks throughout, you’d never doubted Will’s choice of sweets, so you took it into your hands, and slowly ate it. Before drinking a bit of water and rolling over into Will’s arms, which he wrapped around you immediately, making sure you were comfortable, and massaging your scalp. Leaving you to drift off to sleep calmly.

You’d wake up with Willy still holding you, he’d never dare leave you in such a state, but you felt, better? For once in so so long, you felt normal, no discomfort, headaches, stomach aches, it was a miracle, you quickly say up and turned Willy, “Did you?” He just smiled, “it worked?” He asked hopefully, you couldn’t find the words to respond, just jumped into his arms, “thank you handsome, so so much.”

(I need this to be real, I’m dying)

[2demondogs]

Hosea/Chronically Ill Reader Headcanons

A/N: Self-indulgence... Gender neutral reader. Written with POTS in mind, but it could speak to some others. A few conditions have been recognized as Soldier's Heart or Da Costa's Syndrome among many other names.

Hosea is kicking pretty good for the wear and tear he's seen, but it doesn't mean those years aren't catching up to him. As his emphysema gets worse, you're both sitting out on things that neither of you want to. The aches, the shortness of breath, the random, strange things that go haywire inside; he gets them, too, for different reasons.

Beyond the physical symptoms, he can understand the mental challenges of feeling like your body just refuses to do what you're asking it to. It's frustrating and you both have a habit of pushing yourselves and finding out the hard way what happens.

It helps to have someone to care for when you feel like you are losing your own usefulness, your own ability. This goes both ways, although Hosea is a little less willing to accept any kind of help.

He's the one to tell you it's likely a case of Soldier's Heart, having been the world over and seen next to everything. He's taken a few rides into town to converse with doctors or page through books to refresh his herb memory. Hosea's got new herbal concoctions for you every other week to help remedy the symptoms; whether they work or not and regardless of the disappointment when they don't, you appreciate the care.

When you're getting a flare, he finds whoever is slacking most to take on your chores so he can spend the time with you. He'd take them on himself if he could do both. He will constantly remind you of all you do when you express you feel guilty or ashamed. He might project some with his comforts, but usually they still hit close to home and soothe you.

Hosea likes reading to you, keeping his voice even and steady so your body can adjust itself based on his rhythm. He prefers to be able to see you in his peripherals, but he'd never deny you of laying your head in his lap or curling around his back. You often doze off in those positions, and he's glad you're getting the rest you need.

[la-gotica-fantasma]

Deep Down

relationship - Newt x Chronically Ill Male!Reader

setting - Modern AU

word count - 0.6k

contains - Suicidal Ideation / Hurt/Comfort / Chronic Pain

authors notes - I am drowning in my own life at the moment (insert snore emoji) - Possibly the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written... and I LOVED it :} - "Tipsy, you're posting way too much today." Darn... - Sorry 🪶 anon, this is NOT ending in tickles and kisses LMAO.

"No," [Name] sobbed, the excruciating feeling of what felt like his bones being grinded together and then feverishly pulled haunted him. "I can't keep living like this." he cried into Newt's wet shoulder, tears staining his white shirt.

It felt like his body was eating itself, crunching on the most sensitive bits and pieces.

The sound of [Name]'s shattered cries brought a guttural feeling to Newt, one that he wished to rip out of his soul and throw into an empty void.

"Please," Newt whispered into [Name]'s hair, rubbing his hand along [Name]'s back lightly. "please know that I need you to."

With his body racking with sobs, his shoulders contorted in and out with each raised cry. "You tell me so," he spoke in between sobs, "but I can't."

Bodies warping and bending, cracking and snapping, pushing and pulling. Why was [Name] always the subject of that? Why was it that [Name] was the one tortured? What could he have possibly done to deserve this.

"We're still on hold with the fucking nurses, Newt. It's a lost cause, isn't it?" he sniffled, worn down by the knife that prodded at his heart without ever breaking through the sheath and letting his blood spill angelically.

Silence swallowed them like it was gluttonous. It was Ouroboros; swallowing itself whole and licking the remnants off it's fingers with a lustful desire.

"Hold me." [Name] softly ordered, his tears keeping in his eyes. "Hold me like you never have before."

It was a pain [Name] couldn't shield himself from, one that chased him hungrily. And there was nothing to stop it, and it didn't seem like there ever would be.

Arms tightening around [Name]'s back, his head resting in the crevice of Newt's neck. "I'll hold you," Newt swallowed, "for however long you need me to. And I'll listen to every complaint,"

"This body, my body, it's useless." [Name] whispered, the feeling of his lips across Newt's skin sending shivers down his spine.

"Not for loving and being loved," Newt whispered back, giving a light squeeze and positioning his head to look down at [Name] lovingly. "I'll love you forever, all the way until the moon turns upside down."

"What more am I?" [Name] asked. His voice was shakey, like a ship rocking amongst the waves, destined to fall into the dark sea.

Newt's eyes flashed with sorrow, a deep pit carved into his chest ever so delicately. "Everything to me," he admitted gently, his hand moving to hold [Name]'s head.

"I want to be more, I want to be lighter than life." [Name] mumbled, his face flushed and tears creeping back. "I want to be life."

"You'll always be mine."

His line of vision crept down to Newt's leg, reddened by irritation and pain. "I'd never want anyone different," A sad smile adorned [Name]'s face, not out of relief but out of unadulterated adoration.

"It's not your fault that you feel this way," Newt assured in a hushed tone, soft and grainy.

Lightly nodding, [Name]'s hair wisped against Newt's skin. "It's not your fault that you felt that way." [Name] responded softly, cuddling deeper.

[Name] knows, deep down, he's not as lonely as he feels. He knows that Newt would chase after him with a blindfold wrapped around his head. And he knows Newt wouldn't complain as long as they found each other in the end.

"I don't want to eat off of your back," [Name] admitted, "I don't want you to have to carry me through life."

"I don't care if I have to."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.◯ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If you are struggling with chronic pain, or a chronic illness of any kind, you can reach out to me, and I will hear you. I will listen intently, and I will not be another person who quickly turns you down. Your pain is just as valid as anyone else's, and you shouldn't have to kick and scream to be heard. <3

- Morbid affection, Tipsy ᓚᘏᗢ

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.◯ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[my-morai]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CT-9902 | Tech/Reader Characters: CT-9902 | Tech, CT-9901 | Hunter, CT-9903 | Wrecker, CT-9904 | Crosshair, Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Reader Additional Tags: Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Soft CT-9902 | Tech, Love, Love Confessions, Disability, Happy Ending Summary:

Tech turned and rose quickly from the bed, retrieving his data pad from a nearby table. You pushed yourself up, trying to reach a seated position, a feeling of dread washing over you.

“Tech?”

“I cannot believe I have been so unobservant, I should have realized you would run out of the medication without the regular supply from the Republic.”

He was tapping furiously on his datapad now, brows knit together.

“Tech, there was so much you were already worrying about-”

“You should always be my primary concern.”

[imaginethezeldaverse]

Hello! I don't know if you write for the more obscure characters in Botw/Totk but I figured I'd ask just in case ☺️ Could you please write something about Tauro, Purah, Sidon and Zelda dating a Sheikah s/o who's chronically ill/disabled? It'd be great if you could make them specifically have weak bones and be really short too, and they're often upset how people keep babying them because they might fracture or break something. But if you want to keep it more open-ended that's fine too!

Thank you so so much, you're probably my favorite Zelda blog on Tumblr! Your writing and ideas are always like *chefs kiss* 😘! Have a good day and drink lots of water!

Whenever people tell me I'm their favorite anything it literally shocks me because there are SO many fantastic zelda fic blogs on here that I feel are vastly superior - but I thank you nonetheless! 🥰

I'll write for pretty much any character - I just keep romance and nsfw content for adults. So I'd be happy to!

Tauro, as well-mannered and good-natured he is, is amongst the mass where he needs to be reminded that while you are disabled, you aren't incapable of doing normal things. He tries his best to remember that, but his rambunctious and steadfast nature leads him to be righteous and helpful, even when it's not needed. Plus given his height, he always just assumes that people tend to need help to reach things in tall places if he's ever around. He does try his best to be sensitive to your needs and wants, however, tapping his hand to his chest when he catches himself doing too much. Instead, he makes an effort to remind himself to wait for you to ask him should you need anything. Very affectionate, otherwise - he enjoys making you smile and wrapping his big ol' bear arms around you (albeit, he's careful not to actually squeeze you too hard because he does NOT know his own strength) and is very attentive on the days that you specifically don't feel well and your body leaves you in a weaker state than normal.

Purah, being the research fanatic and accomplished scientist that she is, is already aware and well read on your illness. That, however, has never stopped her from being absolutely smitten with you. Where she is boisterous and outlandish, there is a careful resilience to you that she keeps close to her heart. She sees your frustration often with the townsfolk who treat you with unnecessary delicacy, and while she understands the "good-intent", she feels as you do: chronic illness should not beget differential treatment. When you express your frustrations, she's an open ear always. Purah is never one to explain why the people of your community act this way that leans in their favor, but rather why their attitudes should not portray you under a fragile light when you are anything but. She empathizes with you greatly, knowing exactly what it's like for your own people to treat you like you're something you're not (her experiences with de-aging left quite the mark), but she assures you that you've always got her on your side.

“I’ve never much like everyone else…and neither have you,” Purah muses, tapping her recorder in her hand. She lifts her glasses, her crimson eyes blazing in your direction with admiration and sincerity, “I guess that makes us a cut above the rest, now doesn’t it?”

Sidon is about as bubbly with you as you can imagine. That sharp smile completely alight when you're with him. His height difference compared to yours doesn't bother him considering he towers greatly over just about everyone he meets, so as long as you don’t care (which he secretly hopes you don’t!) then all is well. When he learns about your chronic illness, he’s at first admittedly worried, but he sees how much you value your independence and doesn’t push you to do less than anything you’re up for. Sidon, having learned his healing capabilities from Mipha, will actually offer to “bathe” with you whenever you’re not feeling especially strong, letting the softness of his magically imbued water immerse your body and take any pain or pressure off of your form for a while and bring you some ease. You don’t take him up on it often, half because you don’t feel it’s always necessary, and half because you don’t want to impose - though of course Sidon would refute you ever being an imposition upon him. He chooses his words very carefully, making sure to give you the impression that he’s willing to do whatever you need should you need something from him, but without overstepping and making you feel incapable.

“You’ll never be without, my darling,” Sidon whispers, taking your hand, those slit-pupiled eyes softening as he brushes back a lock of your silver-white hair, “But I will never claim to know you better than yourself.”

Zelda has always been a ball of curiosity, that’s one of the things you love about her. She has an awfully curious mind, so when you explain to her about your chronic illness for the first time, she of course asks you a lot of questions. You laugh thinking about back then, how she felt terrible for borderline prying into your life though she wanted to know everything about you at that time. You remember assuring her that it was fine, and it made you incredibly grateful that Impa had introduced you before she stepped down - it allowed you two to get close. The times that you’ve gone to town together, Zelda takes notice of how people tend to treat you akin to porcelain: delicate, fragile, some even giving off the impression that you’re a lost cause because of your Sheikah heritage. Combined with your stature (with Zelda herself being on the shorter side of an average Hylian’s height), it’s enough to infuriate you both. You two tend to bounce off of one another: shes sticks up for you when you feel like someone’s unnecessarily babying you, and you put your two cents in whenever someone is overly cautious and hovering due to her status, even after proving herself beyond capable. Ultimately she too understands your plight of people looking at you differently because of who are you or what they know about you. She recants the days when her father treated her as helpless and small, hyper focused on keeping her in line rather than letting her be her own person. She takes your hand, intertwining fingers with yours and lending you a genuine smile.

“But we are not weak. We are not frail or easily broken. I am not defined entirely by my title,” Zelda kisses the top of your hand before gently covering it with her other in an endearing move, “And you are not defined by your illness.”