#Plumbing Concerns

[carribeanbreezeheatingairl]

The importance of regular HVAC service can’t be overstated. Think about your car; if you don’t get regular tune-ups, you’ll eventually end up on the side of the road. The same goes for your HVAC systems. Here’s why regular servicing from an HVAC company in Franklin, Ohio, matters.

[emergencyplumbingil]

Why you should consider a full house filtration in Illinois

In Illinois, considering a full house filtration system can be particularly beneficial in several scenarios due to specific regional water quality issues and environmental factors.

Here are key situations where installing a full house filtration might be necessary or highly beneficial:

Hard Water Areas.

Old Plumbing Systems.

Agricultural Runoff.

Industrial Pollution.

Taste and Odor Concerns.

Environmental Impact.

Smart Housing Systems Inc. DBA Emergency Plumbing servicing Highland Park Illinois and surrounding local communities of North Shore and Northwest suburbs of Chicago Illinois.

Phone 224-754-1984

[manchesterau]

if they have a leak in the roof then what the hell else is going on in that house 😭

[givemebishies]

First night staying in our new house tonight 🎉

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. ���Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[ventique18]

Malleus being so friendless that he only ever messages Yuu. And since he's a lovestruck puppy, his SMS writing style eventually evolves from a formal, executive style, to an overly sweet and concerned softie type of tune both from mimicking Yuu's text lingo and from being generally just soft for them.

Which proves to be a bit of a problem when he messages other people.

🐉, to the Housewardens group chat: "Sorry. 🥺(⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠) I'm running late today because we had to fix the dorm toilets. 😞 Lilia had too much tacos for dinner. 🤭 ╮⁠(⁠＾⁠▽⁠＾⁠)⁠╭"

🦁: "Wtf? What a terrible day to have eyes. And a brain."

💀: "kekw cursed wwwww 草"

🦦: "It's 👌🏽ok Malleus! Take ur time ☺️☺️☺️"

🌹: "Yuu?"

🐉: "No Rosehearts, this is Malleus. ☺️👍🏻"

👑: "You do NOT smile like that."

🐙: "Malleus, if you need plumbing services, Mostro Lounge offers it for a reasonable price! We also have top-grade diarrhea potions available that we can offer for a bargain, in case all of Diasomnia needs it. But to be absolutely certain this does not happen again, we can cater special tacos for your dorm with special considerations for stomachs that aren't accustomed to strong spices! Please DM me for more."

🐉: "Ashengrotto, what is a DM? (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

[m0narche]

Mdni!! Heavy infantilization, Mommy kink, edging, orgasm control, soft/mean dom Suguru, mentions of pussy inspections, and spankings, pussy spankings, dumbification, afab reader.

All of this could have been avoided.

It's a humiliating sight really. You're completely nude in nothing but white stockings, positioned on your tummy, an arched back, head snuggly nested on Suguru's lap, ass in the air and two digits deep inside your wet throbbing pussy. Working, desperately chasing your peak only to let it all crumble down at the simplest command from your boyfriend.

Suguru came home earlier than you had expected, you didn't have time to cover up your tracks. The messy bed, your heavy breathing, the shaky legs, and the horrible attempt at hiding your favorite toy. It was obvious that you were touching yourself, disobeying mommy. He knew, you knew he knew, but he still made you go through it, he still bent you over then pushed your underwear aside before shoving one thick thumb into your entrance, and to his amusement, and your horror, it slid in just as smoothly as he had expected.

"M-mommy.." your desperate mewl is music to Suguru's ears. One large hand rests on your head, gently smoothing down your hair. "Yes, baby?" His thumb and index finger come together to gently pinch your bottom lip before releasing the plumb flesh.

" 'm s-sorry p-ple fu-uck! P-please let m-me cum mmhmm~"

An exasperated sigh followed by a deep chuckle, "No" and it feels like a death sentence. "No, baby. You did enough of that for one day didn't you?" He leans down to place a feather-light kiss on your temple and shivers run down your spine. "You did this to yourself, sweet thing. Mommy told you to wait didn't he? And disobedient babies don't get to make their cummies, right?" "I know bu-" he shoves his thumb into your mouth before pressing down on your tongue.

"We're talking back to mommy now, sweetie?" And just like that. Your brain melts into a puddle, your eyes dilate and you start to mindlessly suck and drool all over his palm. Suguru has got you trained by now, and there's nothing he loves more than reminding his baby of their place whenever they decide to act out.

You shake your head dumbly, and Suguru is satisfied. "Good..." he pushes his thumb deeper, clearly enjoying your messy state. "Good baby..don't stop making yourself feel good, little one"

Taunting.

"Mmm~ bu- i don't mmMhm~ feel g-ah-good mhm~ muh-mommy" his palm cups the side of your face to get a better grip ~"I know, i know"~ he coos "but i know mommy's baby is brave enough to take it". And you recognize this for what it is. A warning that he has no problem bending you over his lap again and spanking you raw. And the flesh of your ass stings and tingles at the memory.

You don't get to dwell on it for too long because your fingers speed up the pace on their own. You can feel that you're close again. An orgasm that you aren't allowed to enjoy is on its way. But maybe there's a chance. Raising your head up, you flutter your lashes and look at Suguru with big teary eyes "Mom-" "No" his dismissive tone and the sweet smile on his face are enough to make you deflate and resort to more begging, but before you get to whine he pulls his thumb with poping noise following close by.

"Get on your back, little one" It takes a second then two to fully register his order, then a third to process the pain of being left high and dry, and a fourth to notice that you had stopped fingering yourself without question simply because he said so, you sit there dumbfounded.

"Don't make mommy ask again" and you're jumping to lay on your back. Suguru wastes no time to position himself on his knees between your legs, he slides two large palms underneath your thighs, his fingers gently caressing the welts of your stockings. And he just looks so fond, so proud of how easily you melt into him, so proud of you.

"You know everything mommy does is for your own good, right?" He speaks slowly, almost concerned that you won't understand him otherwise. "Mhmm!!" You frantically nod, brain still scrambled from what could have been a wonderful afterglow –if you had behaved–, just eager to get this torture over with.

He fully cups your thighs and starts to elevate your legs, up up up up in the air until your knees meet your shoulders. The extreme movement causes a slight cramp, pushing to whine. "M-mommy-!! Gentle.."

He shushes you before adjusting to hold your ankles and hands together with one firm left hand. His right index finger sliding down your body, starting from your jaw, down to your neck, then to trace your collar bone, he takes a moments when he reaches your breasts, two long fingers paying special attention to your sore erect nipples, –relishing in your yelps and whimpers–, then its back to one finger until he reaches your navel, and his palm flattens over your lower abdomen, and he begins to squeeze then release, squeeze and release, squeeze and release, only serving to arouse you further, and it takes everything in you to hold back the urge to cry and beg and plead.

"I'm still so disappointed in my baby..." he releases the fat one last time before traveling down to your core.

Could he be?

A thick digit circles around your clit, massaging down your labia, tending to you everywhere but where you need him the most. But you can salvage that if you play your cards right.

"N-nghh... 'm so sorry mommy..promise I-i'll always behave f-from now on..I'll be g- gah!! Good..I love you.."

He continues to mindlessly trace circles, seemingly deep in thought.

" 'm so so so sorry, it'll never happen again..pinky promise.."

Still nothing, no reaction. Though you can tell you have his ear.

"Mommy..?" Only the lewd wet sounds of your fluttering cunt fill the room. "S-sugu- AH-!!" A loud ~smack!~ stops you dead in your tracks. Four long fingers come down on your pussy hard and it stung, Mommy's not happy, Oh you really did it this time.

"Would you like to try that again?" His voice feels like a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped on your naked shoulders. "I'm sorry!" You scramble frantically "I'm so sorry!! I-I u-uh it slipped out!! I'm so sorry I wasn't thinking!" You start to absentmindedly chew on your bottom lip, You can feel your stomach drop, your body is getting hotter and your chest feels heavy.

"Exactly, sweet thing" he coos, then raises his hand again before coming down with another harsh smack on your poor puffy clit, completely ignoring your yelps and squeaks. "You weren't thinking" another smack "you never think, ever." he chuckles fondly "mindless little thing..." your pathetic apologies echo in the background, reminiscent of a mantra. "You need your mommy to guide you through everything, don't you?" "Y-yes!! Y-yes!" "I know, little one, i know" and another "but how else are you supposed to learn? You need this." The force increases, and so does your volume. "And mommy's here to give you just what you need. To make sure you stay in line" Tears are streaming down your face at this point, and you start to sob quickly after

"Dumb little thing, what would you do without me, hmm?"

Suguru seems to have had his fill of spanking you for now. He moves back a little to fully take you in in all of your glory. Warm, flushed, crying, sweating and panting. Suguru knows your poor body can't take anymore teasing, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't dying to stuff you full already, to watch you cry and beg and plead for more, sweetly asking mommy to please tend to you properly to paint your insides and and watch you cream all over his thick mean cock until you pass out.

Suguru lives to fuck you into true and absolute mindlessness, he loves how hazy and dopey you remain the following days, unable to properly function, barely able to process his words or respond at all. A little baby deer with unsteady; wobbling legs leaning on its mother. Just as it should be.

The mental image spreads a cheshire grin across his handsome features. And he decides that you've had enough, he releases your limbs from his hold, –not before making you hold your thighs back– then puts one big knee over your soaking wet cunt. And completely ignoring your mewls for attention, he frees his cock.

And there's your prize right there, your reward for being so patient, so sweet and well behaved springs out of his dress pants and stands pretty and erect, already dripping of pre. Your eyes light up and you start to salivate all over again.

The weight of his knee disappears and you're cold and needy again, and before you can whine. The sweet, sweet stimulation is back once more. Suguru is tapping his plump pink tip on your sensitive aching nub, causing devastating pleasure to course through your entire body. Your juices mix together, leaving a string of your wetness and his slick to connect you together each time he pulls away.

"You're lucky mommy's feeling nice today, baby" he fondles and kneads your thigh with his free hand, "Otherwise you would be in so much more trouble, sweet thing."

Before you can nod, smile, beg, thank him for being so sweet or even for punishing you, do anything really, all your senses are engulfed at once, Suguru thrusts into you at an animalistic pace, effectively fucking the last remnants of your brains out.

You've got a long night ahead of you.

[bamsara]

A couple years ago when I was looking for a place to live, I was offered this place for $300 a month (Very, very small 1 bed, 1 bath, plumbing and electric hardly worked, no AC or heating, house was moldy and falling apart, ect) and I was desperate but what really made me consider it was that when the landlord opened the front door, there was like 4 cats just sitting in the living room

Guy apologized and explained that there were a lot of stray cats in the area, they can get inside the house through the walls and kinda made it their place to stay (they were friendly) and explained that if i lived here then I'd have to be okay with cats coming in and out

Which, normally is something other folks would be concerned about, but I could not tell this guy that the house coming with the 'pest' problem of like 13-ish cats was a bonus for me

I didn't end up staying there because of the health hazards but sometimes I think about those cats and driving back over there to see if I can catch them and hit em with the indoor-neutered-vaccinated wombo combo.

[vinnyvamppp]

Can I request for Ladybug! Reader? I saw a TikTok video where Marinette was telling some heroes she could just Miraculous ladybug everything back to normal and they want to hire her because of that.

So imagine this but with Invincible, Reader's like his next door neighbor - yes she witnessed him learning how to land and she got pissed at that cuz IT WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

I like the idea of her revealing her identity to Mark so she can join him in missions whenever, so anytime he destroyed half of a city she just Miraculous ladybug everything and goes "YOUR WELCOME ASSHOLEEE!!"

And maybe during the Invincible war, she lucky charms a whip while fighting a variant (either Mohawk Mark or No goggles Mark cuz they freaky like that) and she goes wtf am I supposed to do with this?

(sorry I'm rambling a lot I just like the potential of this concept)

Friendly Neighborhood Inconvenience

NOTE: THIS IDEA WAS SOOOO FUN, Its 1 am for me and I've been giggling away while typing. I've taken a different approach to my usually long writing to make this more conversationally driven. I'm not straying too much so the vision is accurate. Up and away!

Synopsis: Mark Grayson, is your biggest inconvenience and friend... whom you also live next to. Super-powered besties...? :) Warnings: None, my first non-smut-related blog yes yes! Just two idiots with powers. Mark Grayson x Ladybug!Reader Word Count: 1,000

You knew Mark Grayson was going to be a problem the moment he crashed into your backyard.

Not metaphorically. Not in a "he’s my annoying next-door neighbor" way. No, Mark Grayson, your classmate, occasional physics partner, and guy who still owed you ten bucks from a group project, literally smashed into the ground outside your window at 2 AM. 

You had been peacefully sleeping, dreaming of things far, far away from the absolute disaster that was your life, when a loud THUD shook your house. The crashes you had been imagining in your dreams began to manifest outside of your home. Were you under attack? Has the house shifted? Did your insomnia finally catch up to you? You jolted awake, heart racing, and sprinting as you immediately threw open your window to find Mark groaning in a crater. Oh…

"...Are you serious right now?"

He looked up, squinting and disoriented. "Huh—? Oh. Uh. Hey, neighbor."

"You woke me up," you deadpanned.

"Sorry," he wheezed, struggling to stand. His hands planting themselves against his knees.

"Mark. Why are you in my backyard." Your fingers gestured to the now three unevenly placed craters, one having a busted water pipe.

At that, he winced. "I was... learning how to land."

"You… know how to fly?” Correction: Barely. “...In the middle of the night?"

"Y-Yeah?"

You sighed so hard it could’ve put out a candle. "Grayson, I swear to God, if you ever—"

His attention suddenly turned towards his bedroom, the voice of his mothers concerned cries calling out for him jolted him into focus. And then he zoomed away, barely getting his balance, leaving you seething in your pajamas.

Yeah. Mark Grayson was going to be a problem. One you couldn’t avoid. Mark thought he was so slick. Just how did he manage his grades being so reckless? He’d show up to school exhausted, disappear at the most inconvenient times, and had that whole "Oops, did I break another building? Teehee!" energy about him. You knew. Oh, you knew.

Because the second you saw him with a black eye in the hallway after a “plumbing accident,” you put two and two together. You’d seen Invincible on the news. You’d seen him stumble into your backyard like an idiot. Not to mention the various times he’d confidently strut into his home WEARING HIS COSTUME. Though, you always assumed he was just into comic con and somewhat of a superhero nerd.

So when the time finally came to throw off the mask, you did it spectacularly.

Mark stood in your living room, eyes wide, staring at you in full Ladybug attire. "Wait—YOU’RE LADYBUG?!"

You smirked, spinning your yo-yo. "Surpriiiise~!"

"But—how—why—?!"

"Bro, did you really think you were the only one sneaking around at night?!"

Mark ran a hand through his hair, still struggling to process. "You fix everything after my fights?"

"Ding ding ding!" You clapped your hands. "Every time you break a city block, I put it back together. Every. Single. Time."

His jaw dropped. "Oh my God."

"Oh your God is right. Do you know how hard it is to undo your messes?! Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m fixing! You knock over a skyscraper, I gotta wing it! And every fight wrecks at least ten buildings!"

Mark laughed, but there was guilt in his eyes. "...So, uh. Guess this means you can help out more?"

You crossed your arms. "Help? Babe, I’ve been your cleanup crew this entire time. You should be helping me."

And thus, the most chaotic partnership in hero history was born. Cecil had been hounding you anyway, so this panned out in your favor. Being close and personal to his hero-ly escapades made the clean up easier to maintain… for your sanity of course. You had been through some rough days. Fought some wild villains. But nothing could have prepared you for an entire army of Invincibles tearing through the planet. Honestly, you were terrified; and left ragged, but keeping your wits about you would be the best bet you had for survival. 

You were dodging a punch from one of them, Mohawk Mark, which was an awful fashion choice, by the way, when your Lucky Charm activated. Perhaps it was something helpful like a pair of shears to correct his funky haircut. A bright light flashed, and in your hand, you felt—

A whip.

You blinked.

"...What the hell am I supposed to do with this?!"

Mohawk Mark lunged at you with a cheeky grin, enthralled more than anything. “Didn’t know you were into that, could use another one of you.” He teased.

"Shit—!"

You improvised. And like a thirsty mutt, he hounded you like a new obsession. Who knew men with harems could be so freaky? Later, when the war was over, when the dust settled and the leveled cities were, miraculously, nearly restored, you stood next to Mark, arms crossed, glaring at him.

"Go ahead," he muttered.

"You know what I’m gonna say," you grinned, nudging him slightly.

He sighed.

"Go on," you sing-songed.

"…Thanks."

"And—?"

"...Sorry for all the messes."

You smirked, patting his shoulder. "See? That wasn’t so hard. Now go buy me dinner, asshole."

Mark groaned. "You're never gonna let this go, huh?

"Not in a million years." Secretly, he would be happy too, but the poor boy was embarrassed from being proven wrong that his lips sealed shut. As Mark begrudgingly led the way to the nearest burger joint, you grinned, spinning your yo-yo around your finger. The city skyline gleamed, perfectly restored, thanks to you. The world was safe again—also thanks to you. And despite the chaos, the near-death experiences, and the fact that you were probably stuck dealing with Mark’s messes forever… you wouldn’t have it any other way. Ugh, I just love writing in-character stories. I HOPE THIS LIVED UP TO YOUR REQUESTS EXPECTATIONS LMAO.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[celtrist]

Was looking at the hotel for a drawing and never realized the large degrade from the pilot design (on the left).

I think it was a good choice to simplify it down as the OG design was VERY complex compared to the new design (and some things like the carasoul up top didn't work well considering Alastor was moving his tower up to there). So while I like the pilot hotel more, 100% good move to change it to what we got.

HOWEVER, the pilot design gives that dingey, rundown feels SO MUCH better than the final design. I think background-wise the pilot is better in a lot of ways (like with colors, having them less saturated than the characters). But the hotel in the official series, especially the interior, didn't look as rundown and dingey as I think it was meant to.

You could argue "well Alastor could've spruced it up", but we see in the episode "Dad Beat Dad" a chandelier falling, cockroaches, and Lucifer clearly supposed to be unimpressed with the place. But the show had a very clean and nice looking hotel both interior and exterior. The pilot was good with it being dark and dirty feelings on both these ends. While the final design was super clean-looking but SUPPOSED to have a "roughness" to it, the pilot had a really nice exaggeration of its roughness that gave it a lot of character and made it more interesting. Between the two, I'm more interested in what's inside the pilot hotel than the final design. And it sorta sucks because season 1 ALREADY had the hotel rebuilt all nice and pretty (which like Lucifer showing up, SHOULD'VE been saved for a later season. I get why they did it, but I think the risk of not doing it in season 1 would've had a stronger payoff in the later seasons).

Again, I think it was obviously the right call not to make the hotel so complex for the show. However, there's a stronger mood and personality to the pilot hotel over the final one that feels like it wants to look super nice but it is supposed to be seen as rundown and needs to be fixed-up. And that sucks because I would've loved seeing the rundown place, but we really just got a nice-looking hotel that, in the universe, isn't supposed to be seen as "nice looking" or "clean" (and issues with the hotel concerning its structure and everything was ONLY brought up in "Dad Beat Dad". Little details like a character saying the plumbing was broken AGAIN or things breaking/falling in the background or something would've gone a long way).

It's just a bit of a bummer that the hotel really lost the mood and personality that it did have in the pilot when I really think they honestly could've kept those aspects without making it super complex. I don't dislike the final hotel design, but I don't like the lack of personality and mood it's SUPPOSED to have that the other design achieves.

[emergencyplumbingil]

A Seamless Solution for Hot Water Needs in the North Shore and Northwest Suburbs.

At Emergency Plumbing, we pride ourselves on delivering high-quality solutions for all your plumbing needs. Recently, we had the privilege of assisting a homeowner in Northbrook with an urgent water heater issue. Their 75-gallon Bradford White water heater had stopped producing hot water and had begun leaking, causing concern and inconvenience. Thanks to a recommendation from their neighbor—another happy client of Emergency Plumbing—the homeowner reached out to us for help.

Expert Installation of a Bradford White Water Heater.

The homeowner decided on a 75-gallon Bradford White water heater, a reliable and energy-efficient choice. Our team also installed a recirculating pump to ensure consistent hot water delivery throughout the home. This upgrade not only addressed the immediate issue but also enhanced the overall efficiency and convenience of the plumbing system. From the removal of the old unit to the installation of the new one, the process was smooth and efficient. Our team worked meticulously to ensure everything was up to code, providing a seamless experience for the client.

Competitive Pricing and Guaranteed Workmanship.

Contact us today for expert assistance and see why your neighbors recommend us time and time again!

Building Trust Across Communities.

Phone 224-754-1984

[megalony]

She Can't See

I've finally gotten around to writing another Buddie x reader imagine, I couldn't decide who to write this idea for in the beginning and it's been on my to-do list for a while so I finally changed it to Buddie.

I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt

Buddie Masterlist

Summary: A friendly visit to Hen and Karen's place with their kids ends in disaster when an accident injures their daughter and they have to take her to hospital.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie leaned back until his hips were pressed into the counter behind him and his arms folded over his chest. He couldn't help but sneak a glance over his shoulder, looking out the unfamiliar window to catch a glimpse of the kids playing in the back garden.

They all looked like they were having fun.

He looked back ahead into the kitchen when he felt a tap on his arm and he noticed Hen was holding a cup out towards him, silently asking if he wanted a drink. When he nodded, she flicked the kettle on and began getting a few more cups out.

"No milk, right?"

"Yeah, gotta stay awake somehow." Eddie ran his hands up and down his face to try and wake himself up a little more. It didn't matter that it was the afternoon already, he still felt tired as if he had only just woken up five minutes ago.

"Wanna take them through?" Hen ticked her head towards the dining room and held two steaming cups of tea out towards Eddie. Their partners were in the other room.

(Y/n) and Karen were in the dining room, going over some paperwork. Hen and Karen were in the middle of trying to become foster parents, and (Y/n) was a legal aid. So it made sense that she could give them a hand with the forms and explain some of the legal jargon.

She was more than happy to help, and it meant that the kids could all have an afternoon play date together. For now, Eddie and Hen were just catching up, enjoying a bit of peace and quiet while (Y/n) and Karen went through the last of the paperwork together. And then there was Evan. Their other partner was out front, propped up on a ladder to try and fix the leaking guttering.

Evan was very handy, before he became a fireman he had a dozen odd jobs and for a while when he worked on a construction site, he had basically become a handy man. He knew how to fix plumbing, he was good with electrics and wiring and a leaky gutter was no match for him either.

Eddie took the cups from Hen and trailed into the dining room, moving so he was stood behind (Y/n)'s chair. He leaned over her and set the drinks down in front of each of them.

The hundreds of pages scattered across the large oak table couldn't concern him less and he let his eyes focus on his girlfriend instead. His arms looped loosely around her neck and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, grinning against her skin when she leaned her head back on his shoulder.

"Thanks, we're almost done here. We were thinking of the cinema after this?" (Y/n) pecked Eddie's lips and reached her hand up to cup the back of Eddie's neck. She dragged her fingertips up and down his neck, grazing along the short hairs and raking up into his longer locks at the top of his head.

It was still early into the afternoon and they had promised the kids they would go out somewhere and do something this afternoon, all of them together since they were all off today.

It had been a while since the kids had been round for a play date with Denny, and it had been far too long since Eddie, Evan and (Y/n) spent some time with Karen and Hen.

"Sounds good to me." Eddie dipped his finger beneath her chin, tilting her head back into him a little more so he could steal a deeper kiss from her lips. He sank his teeth down into her lip and squeezed her in his embrace before he finally pulled away.

He didn't want to be too distracting. He pecked her temple before he treated back into the kitchen where Hen was sat down at the table. The back door was open so they could still keep an eye on the kids and make sure they were all alright.

"Almost done, and I think we're off to the cinema."

Eddie slumped down into the chair opposite Hen, giving himself a clear view out the back door. He nursed his cup of black coffee between his hands and took a few sips, hoping it would perk him up a bit more. But his eyes focused on his youngest when he saw her trotting towards the kitchen.

"Papi…" Angel's eyes set on Eddie immediately and she stretched her arms out, rounding the table so she could reach up and take Eddie's arm. She confiscated his limb, holding it to her chest and simultaneously tugging to get his attention, almost pulling him off his chair.

"What's up, princess?"

He slouched back in his chair and spread his knees apart so Angel could worm in between them and clamber up onto his lap.

"They won't let me play, I wanna play." Her little eyes were already watering and she pointed towards the garden, as if Eddie had no idea where her brothers were.

Chris and the twins were playing with Denny, and Angel had been outside for the last five minutes with them, so Eddie assumed they were all playing together. Angel was the youngest out of them all, having only just turned four but that didn't mean she couldn't play their games.

A sigh tumbled past Eddie's lips and he leaned forward to peck her cheek before he nudged her back down to her feet. He took her hand and trudged towards the back door to see what all the boys were up to.

A fondness bubbled up in his eyes when he looked down and watched the way Angel cuddled into his leg and hid behind him. She knew Eddie was going to be stern with the boys and tell them to let her join in and she wanted to make sure they knew she wasn't in trouble. She clung to his hand and nudged into his leg a little more when Eddie stepped off the back step and looked at the four of them.

There was a large oak tree in the back garden and there was an old tyre attached to a branch with some rope. It was a good old tyre swing and Denny was sat with his legs looped through the tyre while Chris pushed him, and James and Jackson were doing loops around the tree.

Eddie had no idea what game they were playing, and he was glad they were all in the garden and not inside on a video game. But they couldn't exclude Angel. She wanted to play and it wasn't fair to make her play on her own just because she was littler than them.

"Boys!" His voice flooded the garden and had all three of his sons staring at him with wide eyes. "Let her play or get back inside, don't be cruel."

Both of them shared a look and a visible shiver crossed them at the stern look on their dad's face. They knew he was being serious. If they were going to push Angel out then they would have to come inside where he could keep an eye on them.

When they nodded, Eddie looked down at Angel and gave a small tug on her hand. "Go play. All of you be careful please."

"Thank you." She let go of his hand and trotted off, eager to see what game they were coming up with so she could join in.

Once Angel stood next to James and Eddie saw him explaining the rules of their new game, he turned and headed back inside. He would keep an eye and make sure they wouldn't exclude anyone, they had to play together and play fair.

"All good?" Hen murmured with a raised brow and her mug of steaming coffee held to her lips.

He nodded and let out a groan as he sank back into his seat at the table. He slouched down until his knees bumped the table and his spine clicked into place.

Eddie managed to drink half his coffee and joke around with Hen about one of their call outs at work before the sound of footsteps caught their attention. He tilted his head back to look behind him and a grin wormed onto his lips when (Y/n) and Karen walked through. He felt (Y/n) press a kiss to his temple and her hands squeezed his shoulders and when she walked round to try and sit next to him, Eddie reached out for her.

He pushed up so he was no longer slouched down and when his arms curved around (Y/n)'s waist, she arched a brow.

Her lips moulded together as she took the silent hint and sat down on his thigh. She leaned back into his chest and reached down to curve her hand around his.

"All sorted." (Y/n) leaned her head against Eddie's and shimmied in his arms to get comfy. (Y/n) was more than used to sitting on one of her boy's laps when they were back at home, especially if all the kids tried to pile together on the sofa with them to watch a movie. She could feel Eddie pecking her cheek, causing her nerves to tingle and her stomach to pool with adrenaline.

When she cast her eyes around the kitchen, she tilted her head back so her lips hovered over Eddie's ear. "Is Evan still outside?"

"I think so, I haven't heard a crash yet." Eddie tried to glance behind him towards the living room and he noted that the ladder was still visible in front of the window. And the bottom of Evan's boots were level with the top of the window. He was still hard at work out there.

A grin lit up Eddie's face when (Y/n) swatted her hand down on his wrist and tutted at him. Evan wouldn't be pleased if he heard that joke from his boyfriend. Evan might be clumsy from time to time, but he wasn't that bad.

"Let's have a look what's on at the cinema."

Karen got her phone from her pocket and slid her elbows onto the table as she started to look and see what they could all go and watch. It would have to be something that wasn't too boring for them, but something the kids would enjoy. Especially since Angel was only four which put a limit on what movies would suit all of them.

Tilting his head down a little, Eddie tucked his face into (Y/n)'s neck while his arms tightened around her sides and pinned her back against his chest. He pressed a few wet kisses against her neck, grinning into her skin when he felt her neck subtly tilt to the left to let him carry on his administrations.

And he could feel (Y/n)'s fingers aimlessly tapping and creating swirling motions against the back of his hand.

(Y/n) tried to focus on what Karen was saying as she went through the lists of films playing this afternoon, but she couldn't focus on anything but Eddie's teeth that were starting to graze against her skin.

Her foot began to tap against the floor, knocking her leg up and down against Eddie's thigh and she tilted her head back a little further on his shoulder so she could see out the back door. The kids were all being rather loud, which meant they were clearly having fun together.

Her lips curved into a grin as she watched James switch places with Denny so James was sat in the tyre swing. It was a little too big and engulfed his slender frame, but he seemed very happy kicking his legs while Denny focused on pulling the tyre back to sway him back and forth.

Chris and Jackson both had spades in their hands from the sand pit that Denny barely used anymore and (Y/n) wondered if they were pretending the spades were swords with the way they were slicing them through the air.

Both kids were trotting around near the tree while Denny began to move the tyre in a large circular motion, swinging round and round causing James to squeal happily.

It took her a moment to locate Angel. The youngest had been near the back fence but now she was trotting towards the boys with her hands cupped together. (Y/n) figured she was going to show Chris something she found, whether it be an insect, a butterfly or a rock, (Y/n) wasn't sure.

Angel took after Evan in the respect that she loved fascinating facts and learning new things. It was something she bonded with Chris over, they were both attached to Evan whenever they went out on a trip to a museum or an aquarium and they begged him to show them new facts and read their kids scientific books with them.

(Y/n) began to tap Eddie's hand in time with the tune playing very quietly on the tv in the living room that barely managed to reach them in the kitchen. She started to hum along with the music and a quiet noise left her lips when Eddie dug his chin into her shoulder, knowing it would tickle her.

He perched his chin on her shoulder and leaned into her back, worming his arm around her so he could reach out for his drink.

For a moment or two, (Y/n) could feel her mind drifting off into another place entirely while Hen and Karen argued about films. And Eddie chirped in every now and then with a definite no to movies he wouldn't manage to sit through.

But when she looked out into the garden once again, her body went rigid. All the air swelled up in her lungs that felt like they were going to pop. Her muscles tightened like they were starting to shrink and become taut and her shoulders rose up near her neck.

Her eyes watched, glued to the scene, unable to look anywhere else as Angel trotted towards the tree just as Denny gave the tyre another push.

It swung around in a large circle, gaining force and speed and in the blink of an eye, the tyre swung full pelt into Angel. She was about as tall as the tyre itself and it slammed into her upper chest and her face, knocking her back so forcefully that her feet left the floor and she fell back a good few feet.

She landed harshly on her back, cemented into the grass with a deafening scream that mingled with the similar sound (Y/n) let out when she watched the horror scene.

A pitiful cry left James's lips when he felt the collision and the tyre shuddered, shaking him from left to right after it barged into his sister. He clung to the rubber, snapping his eyes closed, body shaking as Denny grabbed it to pull the tyre to a stop.

"Jesus! Babe-" Eddie slammed his cup down on the table when (Y/n)'s elbow bashed into his chest and knocked his arm, forcing the rim of the cup into his teeth before he set it down.

He shook his hand out at his side, shaking off the droplets of coffee as a horrid throbbing pain tore through his upper lip.

His wild eyes looked up at his partner but she was already scrambling off his lap, something akin to a cry leaving her lips as she yanked on his hand. She almost snapped his wrist with her force and Eddie had no choice but to get up out of his seat, wondering what on Earth was going on.

All four of them heard a symphony of screams from each of their children and both Hen and Karen shot up to try and look out the window.

Eddie's wrist was still clenched in (Y/n)'s grip and he let her drag him out into the garden as goosebumps rose on his flesh at the sound of the kids petrified screams. His eyes roamed the garden, desperately trying to see what had happened but he couldn't make sense of it.

James was shaking as he climbed down from the tyre and coiled his arms to his chest, tears already drenching his face. Jackson backed up until he was stood side by side with his twin and he gripped James's arm to keep them both deadlocked together. Denny was stood beside them, a repetition of 'momma' leaving his lips, wailing for his mums while he pointed in the other direction.

And Chris was stood to one side, tears in his eyes, his face turning red and his jaw hanging open while he stared at his sister.

Once Eddie's eyes locked on his youngest, he could feel his lungs seizing up and his hands unknowingly clenched into fists. Angel was on the floor. She was sprawled out on her back as if she were sunbathing, but every part of her small frame was trembling.

One arm was slumped over her chest and the other was limp against the grass. Her eyes were screwed shut but her lips were parted wide as horrid howls left her chapped lips and made her throat dry.

"What happened?" Eddie's feet picked up speed and his boots scuffed through the grass to reach his little girl. When no one answered him, his raging eyes darted between all four boys. "What happened to her?! Somebody speak. Now."

The booming authority in Eddie's voice had all the boys shaking and James couldn't help but wail louder. They watched through bubbling tears as Eddie crashed down to his knees at Angel's side while (Y/n) scrambled to kneel down beside him.

"Evan!" (Y/n) scratched her hand over her chest as if she were clawing to try and reach her heart and she looked over her shoulder with a maddening expression dancing across her face. She distantly heard the front door slam and the sound of her other partner's footsteps crashing against the floor as he pelted through the house.

Evan heard the screams.

He was just about finished setting the gutter back in place when a round of raised voices and screams caught his attention. He heard his sons shrieking. He heard (Y/n) scream and the panic in Eddie's voice. But what got Evan's heart the most was the sound of Angel's petrified howl.

His chest rose and fell so deeply that Evan felt like his ribs were cracking and splintering with each breath. He pelted through the house and stumbled out the open back door, his eyes set on his family and the scene around the garden. He tripped over his feet, arms flailing at his sides until he was stood behind (Y/n), gasping for breath with his hands clamped down on her shoulders so he could look over her and see what was going on.

"It w-wasn't my fault! I- papi I didn't-" Horrible snagging breaths and hiccups broke apart James's voice while her hugged himself tighter and stared down at his parents. He sniffled and tried to take deep breaths but all he could do was cry while he felt his twin cuddling close, on the brink of tears too.

He didn't mean to.

He couldn't stop the tyre or move it or get off before it barrelled into Angel; the collision was inevitable. She ran towards the tree at just the wrong time and Denny pushed the tyre at the exact moment where Angel got close. And Chris and Jackson hadn't been close enough to stop the tyre or grab Angel and pull her out the way. It wasn't anyone's fault.

"The tyre, it- it swung and hit her." Denny wrapped his hands around Karen's arm when she hurried over to coil him into her chest.

Eddie nodded and glanced over at the boys, trying to simmer down his expression so they knew he wasn't blaming them or angry with them, he was worried.

His eyes darted back down to Angel and he had to steady his hands so they didn't tremble when he reached out for her. His hands very delicately cupped either side of her neck and kept her head straight and he carefully glided his thumbs across her cheekbones.

A sharp, piercing cry left Angel's lips and she managed to gain back some control and fling her right arm out. (Y/n) reached down and held her hand when it moved again and she tried to stop her from moving about too much.

"Okay, okay princess I'm just gonna take a look, stay still for me."

Eddie didn't like what he saw. The right side of Angel's head was starting to swell around her temple and brow. He could feel the heat rising to her skin and see the blood rushing beneath the surface. Shifting his hands round, he tried to feel round her eyes but he jerked back when Angel shrieked. That wasn't a good sign.

"Can you open your eyes for me?" Eddie tried to ignore (Y/n)'s petrified gaze burning holes into him and he felt one of Evan's hands move to grip his shoulder, clearly wanting to help but not quite sure what to do. It was hard to compart-mentalise and try to help Angel when all Eddie wanted to do was panic and let the paternal side of him take over the medic part.

Angel did her best, but all she could manage was to squint so little that her eyes were barely open at all.

She writhed from side to side, a mix of screams and horrible roaring cries leaving her lips that were starting to swell from exersion. Her heels scraped into the grass, leaving indents in the mud like she had been dragged kicking and screaming. And her body continued to writhe from side to side even when Eddie tried to shush her and stop her from moving too much.

When she writhed again and let out a belting scream, Evan moved around until he was knelt behind her head. He reached down and started to glide his hands up and down Angel's shoulders to try and coax her to stay still and calm down just a little.

"Daddy?" Her broken, hoarse voice made Evan wince and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes already.

"I'm here baby, just try and stay still, hm? Let papa take a look at you baby." Evan felt a great urge to lean down and kiss Angel's temple or her cheek, but he didn't dare. They didn't know what kind of injuries she had and he was too afraid of hurting her by accident to risk giving her a kiss. He settled for squeezing her arms and gliding his hands up and down to keep her still.

With a deep breath, Eddie hovered both hands over Angel's left eye and gently peeled her eyelid back so he could see her pupil. Her eyelids twitched beneath his touch and she wriggled, but Eddie could see her pupil constricting and her eye was moving from side to side. It looked okay.

He moved to do the same with her right eye and he carefully moved her eyelid, but he sucked in a deep breath, unable to hide the grimace from his lips.

"What, what is it?" (Y/n) leaned over to try and see what had caused her partner to bristle so much and Evan leaned over to get a peek too. But the sight had them both trembling in fear.

Angel's pupil was blown wide, almost taking over the expanse of her entire eye and her eye was aimed towards the side like she was trying to look at the inside of her skull. When Eddie hovered his finger over her eye and tried to get her to follow his movement, his teeth sank down into his lip.

She wasn't following the movement or acknowledging him at all.

She couldn't see.

Eddie retracted his hands from Angel and shuffled back so he was beside Hen instead who had been hovering close in case she was needed for a second medical opinion.

"Call an ambulance. She's got cranial pressure and it's pushing on her eye… she could have a bleed." The gritty, low tone in Eddie's voice made Hen shiver but she nodded and took a few steps away so she could make the call without the kids listening in.

He ran his hand along his face and down his chin, trying to compose himself but he couldn't quite manage it. There was pressure in Angel's head and she was starting to have swelling. That meant she could get too much pressure on her brain or have a cranial bleed and the implications and effects of that were limitless and frightening. They had to get her to hospital and get it under control and get the pressure off her eye.

Twisting around on his heels, Eddie turned to look over at Karen who was doing her best to console all four boys whilst hiding the worry from her face.

"Can you take the boys inside while we wait for an ambulance?"

Just the knowledge that this situation was bad enough to need an ambulance had all of them trembling. But Karen put on a brave face and managed the most tepid smile she could while she huddled the boys close around her.

"Sure, come on, let's go put the tv on, leave your mum and dads to help Angel." She ushered them away from Angel, not wanting them to crowd her or catch a glimpse and become frightened for her. But she couldn't stop James from veering over towards Eddie.

His hands instantly curled around Eddie's hand and pulled it against his chest while he looked up at his dad with matching brown eyes that looked like they were about to melt into puddles.

"Am- am I in trouble? I didn't- I-"

"Hey, hey it's alright, no one's getting into trouble, I promise." Leaning down, Eddie cupped the back of James's head and brought him close so he could kiss his temple. Eddie couldn't have the boys thinking they had done something wrong. If the swing had just hit Angel and they didn't push it intentionally towards her then they wouldn't be told off for it.

This was just an accident that none of them could help.

When Karen tried to tug on Jackson's hand, the other twin trudged towards the scene so he could go over to Evan who was still crouched behind Angel. The look in his eyes was worrying and Evan reached out to pull Jackson into his chest, making sure neither of them touched or leant on Angel in any way.

Jackson was the quietest out of their four kids. He interacted with his siblings but he wasn't one for making noise or chattering incessantly like Angel and he didn't babble to himself like James or strike up conversations with anyone like Chris.

"Daddy?"

"It's okay, you go inside buddy." Evan kissed Jackson's cheek and nudged him back towards Karen.

Standing around to watch wasn't going to do any of the boys any good. They needed to go out the way and calm down. He watched Karen guide the boys inside, occasionally looking back to the scene as if it would somehow change or as if she thought something else was going to happen.

Eddie dragged his hand up and down his chin and neck, scratching into the skin to try and calm himself down before he spun round. Hen had taken his place opposite (Y/n), her phone pinned between her ear and shoulder while she tried to answer the dispatch questions she was being asked.

The adrenaline shooting through Eddie's system was like a tidal wave and it had his limbs shaking at his sides. He wasn't used to the kids being in accidents, at least none that were damaging enough to need paramedics. It was usually the kids falling and scraping their knees or falling off climbing frames at the park. Never something like this.

But having it being Angel who was hurt made all three parents feel a sense of de-ja-vu.

Angel had been a premature baby, hence the name they gave her when they weren't sure if she was going to make it or not. Added with the fact that both men had always wanted a little girl to spoil and when she was finally born, she had been so tiny and frail and the odds had been against her. The first two months of her life had been spent in the hospital and after that, all three parents were constantly worrying about her. She was often sick, she had a weakened immune system, she had been using an inhaler since she was three and any chest infection she had led them to a doctor's office to get her checked over.

She had suffered enough already and she was still suffering with her weakened immune system and her chest. She didn't need any other injuries or problems to deal with. This wasn't fair.

When Eddie tapped her shoulder, Hen shuffled out the way so he could take his place opposite (Y/n) again.

Each cry Angel let out had both her dads shivering and coiling in on themselves. But when she flapped her hands around and tried to sit herself up, Evan quickly moved his hands up to her shoulders. He carefully nudged her down so she was laid on her back again which caused her to screech.

"No! Daddy- papi-"

"Baby, hey princess you need to stay still, we don't want you moving your head yet. It's okay, we're here with you, just try and stay still."

While (Y/n) clasped both Angel's hands together and began smoothing her thumbs over the back of her hands and Evan held her shoulders, Eddie shuffled closer. He moved his hands to cup Angel's neck and he held her head straight, making sure she didn't lift her head from the ground.

They couldn't have her moving too much, they had no idea whether she had a bleed and the swelling wouldn't be doing her head any good. Moving could dislodge or rupture something.

"Okay baby, okay." Eddie hushed and glided his thumbs across Angel's jaw when she began wailing.

He hated the way she kicked her heels against the grass and writhed from side to side, moving every inch of her body except for her neck and head. He continued to hush her while (Y/n) kissed the back of her hands.

Tears streaked down (Y/n)'s face as she leaned to the left and burrowed her face into Evan's shoulder. She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all, their daughter was in agony and all they could do was pin her down like they were trying to restrain her from something.

"They're here." Hen patted her hand on Evan's shoulder before she got to her feet and hurried to open the side gate. It would be easier to usher them straight into the garden rather than traipsing through the house. It would also mean the boys wouldn't have to see anything.

"It's okay honey, the paramedics are gonna take a look at you now." (Y/n) kissed the back of Angel's hand again and began gliding her hand up and down her daughter's arm to try and keep her calm. But it was hard when (Y/n) could barely contain her own panic, the mask of calmness she was trying to put on wasn't fooling anyone, not even her daughter.

Another wheezing scream left Angel's lips as she screwed both eyes shut and pulled her arms out of her mother's grasp. She didn't want to be pinned down, she wanted to sit up and be cradled by one of them properly. She wanted to be sat on their lap, snuggled into their arms and get kisses and be swayed from side to side.

Lying on the damp grass, being pinned down like she was a bad child made her heart seize up and made her want to keep screaming. Despite how her screams were rattling her head that felt like it was the size of a watermelon.

Evan crouched down a little more until his lips were hovering over Angel's ear and he tried brushing his thumbs over her shoulders.

"Shh, shh baby it's okay. Calm down baby, please, we're not going anywhere we're all gonna look after you."

He plucked up the will to kiss her left cheek, hoping the touch wouldn't cause her any discomfort and would in fact calm her down. But he turned to look over his shoulder when he watched Hen guide two paramedics through the back garden with a stretcher wheeled between them. She had clearly informed them what happened and that she and Eddie were medics.

They could take her and Eddie's comments at face value about cranial pressure and a possible bleed around her eye or in her skull. They didn't have to roll their eyes and think that they were two hypochondriacs who thought they knew everything; they were trained professionals.

"Okay, and who do we have here?" The paramedic's voice was calming and she had a soothing smile that made (Y/n) wonder if that was how both her men came across when they were out on calls.

She knew Evan's smile was to die for and Eddie's voice was soothing when he tried to take control and tell people that everything was going to be okay.

"Her name's Angel… her pupil's blown wide and she can't seem to move her eye. I don't think she can see."

The medic nodded and shuffled in between Eddie and Evan so she could try and look at Angel, but the little girl was having none of it. She screamed when an unfamiliar hand tried to press against her temple and pull her eyelid to flash a light over her eye.

Her temple was still swelling up and her right eye was facing the corner like she was trying to roll her eye to see the inside of her head. Her pupil could just about be seen but it was expanded very badly which wasn't a good sign. Eddie doubted the little girl could see out of that eye and he doubted if she knew that. She could see out of her left eye, but both eyes were continuously screwing shut because of the pain. She wasn't trying to focus on seeing anything, she was relying on her sense of touch and her hearing to work out the situation around her.

"There's a lot of cranial pressure. Sweetie, can I check your blood pressure?"

"No!" Her weak hands curled into fists and she flung them in front of her defensively until she hit the woman away from her.

"Angel…" The warning tone in Evan's voice wasn't as stern as usual, he couldn't bear to be stern with his baby girl when she was in agony and frightened like this.

(Y/n) looked between both her partners before she leaned down towards Angel. "What about papi? Can he check your blood pressure, hm?"

Angel huffed and began to whimper and her chest pushed up off the ground as she started to mewl and cry. But she didn't try and fight them when she felt Eddie leaning over her and he gently held her right arm so he could slide the cuff up her arm towards her shoulder.

She would let her parents help her, but not strangers. She wanted to go home. She wanted her parents to make the pain go away and make everything better; they always made everything better.

"It's 142/93 and rising, it's going through the roof." The way Eddie shook his head as he spoke told (Y/n) that this grim situation was only getting worse. If her blood pressure continued to rise Angel was really going to be at risk of further complications. They needed to get her to hospital on medication and sent for a scan so they knew what they were dealing with.

"Alright, if one of you could get a neck brace on her, we can get her transported."

The medic held out a small neck brace which Evan reached over to take. If any of them could get this on her, it would be him.

Eddie was the parent who always checked the kids over when they were ill, he was the one who said whether they needed to go to the doctor and who gave them medicine and he could be stern when he needed to be. Evan was the one the kids ran to if they thought they were in trouble and if they wanted comfort they shot straight to (Y/n).

Evan would be able to coax Angel to calm down and get the neck brace on. He crouched down over her and pecked her cheek, then her nose and he tilted her head back towards him as carefully as he could.

"This will help your head baby, it isn't tight and it's not gonna hurt you. Okay? Here we go."

Evan clipped the blue, white and yellow plastic around Angel's neck and slotted her chin carefully into the groove in the centre so it was properly in place. At least this would stop her from trying to lift her head or tilt her chin down. It would keep her neck tense and secure and therefore helped her head.

If she had any pressure or a bleed, her head needed to remain still so nothing ruptured.

The four year old gurgled and whimpered, flinging her arms at (Y/n) who stopped her from trying to remove the brace when Evan got it clipped into place.

Both medics took a step back when Eddie muttered "Let us," and motioned to Angel. She was only going to fight and struggle if they tried to get her on the gurney and move her whereas if her parents did it, she wouldn't fight as much. And he and Evan were trained for moving people, they knew what to do and how to move Angel without hurting her.

"Here we go princess," Eddie cooed as he and Evan carefully lifted her up and laid her on the gurney that was moved beside them.

Eddie took both her hands in his and leaned down to kiss the back of her hand while (Y/n) stood as close as she could and tried to brush Angel's hair away from her eyes to keep her calm. Once she was on the gurney, Evan twisted around and moved over to Hen.

It was clear what he was going to ask her without him needing to say a single word. Out of them all, Evan was the closest one to Hen, they were like siblings.

She knew he was going to ask about the boys. She could see it in Evan's eyes that he was willing to take the boys home with him. His heart wanted to go with Angel, but he couldn't drag his three boys down there to the hospital and panic them into waiting around for news on their sister. It wouldn't be fair. And Evan was willing to break his heart and take the boys home and wait in agony for any news on his daughter.

"Go. The boys can stay with us." Hen's words made Evan bite down on his lower lip to stop himself from bursting into tears.

"Are you sure?"

"Go." Her hand patted down on his shoulder and she let him reel her into a tight hug before he moved towards his partners.

Hen wouldn't have Evan panicking himself like that. All the boys were shook up, they needed some comfort and they were more than welcome to stay here with Denny and try to occupy themselves until they all had news about Angel's condition.

The bubbling cries leaving Angel's lips made all three parents quiver and wince and when she started to fidget and writhe from side to side, they all tried to move. Once she was in the back of the ambulance, Eddie reached down and took her hands. He pinned them together over her chest and held tight enough that she couldn't move or break out of his hold. And Evan held onto her tiny waist, keeping her still against the gurney so she didn't start fighting and do any damage to her head or eye.

"No papi!" Her shrill voice cut through Eddie's ears and he grimaced, holding her tighter when she tried to hit him despite her hands being deadlocked in his grip. "Home- mummy… oow."

Her screams made everyone shiver and grunt and when she started to bash her tiny heels down onto the gurney, the shock vibrated through to her head and made her shriek and sob all at once.

She wanted to go home. She wanted her parents to make her better. She wanted to be back in her dad's car, not whatever this was. She didn't like it.

"Angel, stop it."

"Come on, you've been such a good girl, just a little bit longer for me. You're gonna get some medicine soon."

Her wails overrided every other voice and noise around her until her shrieks and bubbling cries were the only thing anyone could hear or comprehend. Eddie moved her hands into one fist so he wasn't gripping her too tightly and he scratched his jaw as he looked across at Evan. Both of them were thinking the same thing and Evan hung his head to take a deep, calming breath before he looked at the paramedic.

"You need to sedate her or she's going to rupture something." If they didn't sedate her, she was going to keep panicking and screaming and acting out.

She was in agony, she was frightened and she didn't understand what was happening. Nothing they said was going to make the slightest bit of difference and they couldn't have her hurting herself any worse or causing any further problems.

She needed to be given pain relief and sedation so they could get her transported safely. Angel would only need sedation once they arrived at the hospital anyway because she wouldn't settle for an MRI or a CT scan. That would petrify her. Sedating her now was their safest option.

When the lady nodded and set about filling a needle with the right medication, Evan started to card his fingers through her hair while (Y/n) took his place keeping Angel's waist pushed down into the gurney.

"Here we go, princess. You're gonna go to sleep now and feel so much better. It's all okay now, it's okay."

Her shrieks paused and morphed into a whine when she felt a needle slipping into her arm. The shock stopped her from screaming and the pain wasn't as bad as the thundering headache and the ache behind her eye so Angel had no need to kick up even more of a fuss.

She began mewling like a kitten and her little lips started to part and her mouth hung open when the sedative quickly kicked into her system. She stopped writhing around and when Eddie laid her hands on her tummy, she didn't have the energy or the will power to move them and reach out for him again.

"Shh, there we go princess."

She focused on the feeling of Evan's fingers carding through her hair, (Y/n)'s hands on her waist and Eddie's hand resting softly on top of hers as she fell into a deep sleep.

Now they could look after her.

***

A deep breath rumbled past (Y/n)'s lips while she nuzzled her face closer into the crook of Evan's neck. She could feel Eddie's fingers tapping out a rhythm against her thigh and every now and then he would squeeze her thigh as if to let her know that he was still paying attention.

She could feel Eddie's leg jittering up and down beside hers and every few seconds his knee would bump into hers or jostle her leg. He couldn't sit still, neither of the boys could.

If it wasn't Eddie's leg vibrating up and down, it was Evan's hands twitching on his lap or entwining with (Y/n)'s to try and keep himself occupied. Evan had gone from staring at the ceiling to counting the tiles on the floor to then watching and scrutinising every person who passed them by.

Each time a doctor or a nurse came in their direction, Evan would tense up and get ready to bolt up from his chair. But none of them stopped; they had no news of Angel yet.

The longer they waited, the more panicked they all became. When they were told to wait here while Angel went for some scans and an assessment, Eddie had downed a cup of coffee and Evan had paced the floor until (Y/n) gently asked him to sit down. He had been making her dizzy.

(Y/n) closed her eyes and leaned a little more into Evan to see if it would stop him from vibrating and shaking like he was going into shock.

Eddie kept his fingers dancing across (Y/n)'s thigh and his head tilted to the left as he looked around. No one else was in this waiting room. They were sat in the waiting area for the MRI unit. Right next door was the CT scans and down the hall were X-rays, somewhere Angel hopefully didn't need to go.

Moving his free arm, Eddie pressed it down into his chest and moved his hand to his lips so he could bite down on his thumb.

He didn't like waiting. One of the reasons he liked being a medic in both the army and with the fire department was because he could move around. He could help people, he didn't have to sit and watch and feel helpless and useless. Eddie valued himself on his worth to others and right now, sitting here doing nothing, he was of no use to his daughter. That didn't sit well with him.

Just as his teeth sank down into his thumb and started to tear the first few layers of skin, he caught movement out the corner of his eye.

When he turned his head and noticed the doctor they had spoken to when they arrived, a wave of hope flooded through Eddie's chest. He felt his heart pick up speed and when the doctor was clearly aiming their way and not about to walk past them, Eddie clenched his hand around (Y/n)'s thigh causing her to jump beside him.

Both (Y/n) and Evan glanced to the left and (Y/n) sucked in a deep breath when Evan bolted upright beside her. He shot to his feet and since (Y/n)'s hand was tangled in his, he jolted her forward so she had no choice but to stand up with him.

Eddie pushed up to his feet as well and all three of them turned to face the doctor as he aimed their way with a smile that was calming and reassuring.

He twisted his head a little to look behind him when he felt (Y/n)'s hands curling around his arm. He felt her press her lips into the back of his arm and her body glue up against him while Evan stood right behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

"Is she okay?" There was a sense of urgency in Evan's voice that matched how both his partners were feeling.

They had waited in agony while Angel went for tests and the only consolation they had was that they hadn't had to watch her scream or cry out at being separated from them since she was sedated. If she had been awake she would have put up a fight.

Whenever they brought her to the doctor or down to hospital, Angel made sure at least one parent stayed with her. She wouldn't stay anywhere like this on her own, not for a second.

"I'm afraid the scan showed Angelica has a detached retina."

The doctor clasped his hands in front of him and stood up straight when he realised none of them were going to sit back down again. They were too anxious to be sat down jittering, they needed to stand and move around.

"What?" The notion of what the doctor had just said was making (Y/n)'s stomach churn. She hadn't heard of that before and it made it sound like her eye had popped out of its socket. At least (Y/n) knew that wasn't going to happen, that was just her panicked imagination running away without her.

"The force of the accident loosened the retina, its come away from the back of the eye. We're going to have to operate to join it again to prevent any permanent damage."

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from gagging as she pressed her face into Eddie's arm as tears started to trickle down her face. She felt Evan gripping her shoulders tightly and he pressed his lips to the back of her head. The way he growled into her hair had shivers coursing up and down (Y/n)'s skin and made her quake.

And she could feel Eddie's back and arms tensing up like he was transforming into the Hulk. His breathing deepened and his upper lip curled into a snarl as those words settled in his mind.

Tears welled up in Evan's reddened eyes, but the rest of his features were soon turning the same dark crimson colour as his nose crinkled and he did his best to stop his hands from puncturing down into (Y/n)'s shoulders.

"She's four." He spat the words through gritted teeth as he fidgeted from foot to foot.

Angel was still a toddler. She was still the baby of the family in her parent's eyes. She was still that miniscule baby they had cradled and nursed for two months in the premature care unit. She was the little baby they were always taking to doctors appointments and the little girl they sat up all through the night with when she had chest infections and needed antibiotics.

She had never had an operation before. Despite all the times she had been to hospital for appointments and all the antibiotics she'd had and the inhalers she used. Angel had never needed an operation before. None of the kids had ever needed an operation for anything.

How were they going to explain this to her? How was she going to cope with this? How risky was this operation going to be for her and her age?

"Which is why we would put her under anaesthetic, this type of surgery is usually done while the person is awake. But with her age and today's trauma, I don't think that would be wise."

There was no way Angel would cope with such an operation if she had to be awake. Seeing needles and probes aiming straight for her eye would traumatise her for life and she would thrash and try to act out and get away. It would be too scary for a child to endure. Anaesthetic wasn't always necessary and for this kind of operation they preferred the patient to be awake, but that wasn't going to be an option with Angel.

How cruel was it going to be of her parents if she stayed sedated now and went straight for the operation? How horrid would they feel when Angel woke up and was told she had been in surgery while she had gone to sleep? She would feel like they had betrayed her.

But if she woke up and had to be sedated a second time, it was going to cause her mass panic and chaos. She would fight them on sedation if she knew why she needed it and what was going to happen.

"A-and she'll be okay, after you do this operation?" Evan carded one hand through his hair and started to tug on his long curls. "She's a preemie, s- she's already got asthma and respiratory problems."

It was clear that surgery was their only option, but Evan wanted to make sure that this was going to be the worst of it. That after the operation, Angel would be able to recover quickly and she wouldn't need any further surgery or medication or assessments and jabs to correct this detached retina.

But when Eddie turned to the side and moved both his hands to his hips, (Y/n) unlatched her hands from his arm. She knew that look on his face. She knew the way he was aiming his head down towards the floor was so he wouldn't have to face her and Evan or argue with them about something.

Her hands began to tremble as she looked from Eddie to Evan who moved his left hand to clamp down on (Y/n)'s hip while his other hand scratched at the back of his neck. He frowned as he stared over at Eddie who suddenly looked guilty for something.

"What? What's that look for?" Evan's voice was low and almost dangerous while (Y/n) reached forward and tried to hold onto Eddie's arm again to get him to talk. He knew something. He had guessed something worrying about this operation, they could see it in his eyes.

Glancing to his left, Eddie looked over at the doctor who seemed to realise that Eddie knew the after effects of this operation. He had heard about this and witnessed people going through this procedure. He knew what it meant.

"This operation is very simple and if we act fast, she should regain her sight within a few weeks… but it's the recovery that will be hard."

The doctor's words did nothing to calm them down. That didn't sound good. What kind of recovery would Angel need? What could be worse than having to have an operation where needles and gas would probe into her eye?

"Why?"

"A detached retina is serious at any age and it can lead to future complications, she will be more prone to this happening again from smaller traumas. To recover, I'm afraid your daughter will have to be on bed rest as much as possible."

"Bed rest, for a toddler? How are we supposed to do that? It's only her eye." (Y/n) began to fidget from foot to foot as her hands tangled together in front of her.

Did this doctor have children? Did he understand the concept that a child couldn't simply be told to sit or lie still all day and be expected to comply. If they told Angel she had to stay in bed all day every day for a week or more, at first she would laugh. She would think it was fun until she realised she wasn't allowed to get out of bed. She wouldn't be allowed to go out in the garden or go do drawing in the dining room or go out with her brothers to the park or to the cinema.

They would have to tie her down to the bed if they wanted her to comply with this. Children were wild, they were fuelled with energy and their attention spans needed to be occupied and contained.

"The eye needs time to heal and reattach fully. To help the retina heal we will have to inject gas into her eye, we don't want this gas moving about while her eye heals. I understand it will be increadibly hard, but to sae her sight we will need to try and keep her on bed rest."

The thought of gas being injected directly into Angel's eye made Evan want to gag. He clamped his teeth down on his tongue to stop himself from saying something or from coughing and he tried to take a deep breath but it was too hard. How would they do this? Angel barely laid still on the ambulance journey down here and that had been less than an hour.

A few days was going to become a nightmare and stretch on into a year for her and her parents.

"How long for?" Eddie dreaded to ask. He had a gut feeling that the answer would be a lot worse than any of them expected.

"Typically we instruct patients to lay in bed for the first week and sleep on their back, not to lie or move onto their side. She should only get up for the bathroom and to eat. Then the next week she could sit up and turn on her side, but she would need bed rest for up to three weeks, and an eye patch. After two weeks we can check that her sight is coming back and remove the gas from her eye."

"Jesus Christ. How- how do you expect us to do that when she's only four?"

Evan couldn't hide the terror from his voice as he looked away from the doctor and his partners so he didn't say or do something he shouldn't.

Telling Angel to lie still was like asking someone to heal a broken bone instantly. She couldn't do it. Telling her to sleep on her back, to not wriggle around or lay on her side or curl up with one of her parents was too much to ask of her. Angel wouldn't understand why and it would be too hard for her.

She would risk losing her sight because she couldn't comprehend and she wouldn't be able to stay still or lie on her back and practically not move for a week. And then to have another two weeks of limited movement and being confined to her bed was going to be Hell for all of them.

How were they supposed to do this? Did they tie Angel to the bed and hope for the best? Did they have to be stern and possibly threaten her to get her to comply?

Somehow, Eddie didn't think telling Angel the truth would help. He had a gut feeling that if they told Angel she had to do this or she would lose her sight, she would take that risk. She would move and she wouldn't care about losing her sight in one eye because of how bad these restraints were going to be on her.

Angel was a little child, and children didn't typically sit still. She was not going to lie in bed all day every day. She wouldn't refrain from fidgeting, she wouldn't sleep on her back and not move or lay on her side.

They would have to have Angel either in their bedroom or in their bed with them to try and stop her moving or even pin her to the bed to stop her from hurting herself and damaging her eye any further.

"That's going to be impossible." (Y/n) sobbed quietly and leaned back into Evan when she felt like her head was going to explode.

How could this be happening from a little accident?

If only Angel had been standing somewhere else in the garden. If only it hit her in the back rather than straight in her head like it did. If only the kids had been inside rather than playing with that tyre swing. It had been a game between children and none of them had done anything wrong.

There was nothing and no one for them to blame which made this situation ten times worse.

When the doctor murmured that he would go and get them the paperwork so the operation could go ahead, Eddie nodded. He watched him go before he turned on his heels to face both his partners and his eyes locked with Evan's.

"We're gonna have to talk to Bobby, I think we're gonna have to take medical leave."

When Maddie had called the station four years ago and told them that (Y/n)was in premature labour, no one hesitated. Chimney, Hen and Ravi had covered Eddie and Evan's shifts and Bobby told them immediately to go to the hospital. They had been given their two weeks parental leave and Bobby had sat down with them to work out a new rota and give them annual leave each week.

One parent stayed at the hospital with Angel, one stayed home to care for the boys and then either Evan or Eddie went to work. They rotated each week and switched around so they could all see each other and the kids and care for Angel. It had been so hard for the first few months, but it had to be done.

They were going to have to do that again. The boys were going to have to talk to Bobby and get some medical leave and use some of their annual leave- which thankfully was stacked up due to all the overtime they had worked recently. They needed to take leave so someone could be with Angel at all times, someone could either rest or sort the house and work and someone else could be with the boys.

They would have to rotate shifts between the three of them again like they had done when Angel had been a baby. This was going to be hard on all of them, especially all the kids. It was a good job that there were three of them in this relationship.

It was going to be a rough month ahead.

[magical-reid]

The Rings We Keep Part 3 (Final Part)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 6.7K

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: The days following your kiss with Spencer had been a whirlwind of barely contained feelings. It was unspoken but there—something unshakable between you and him. You had agreed to take things slow, to let your connection build naturally without forcing it into a label or rushing anything.

But the more time you spent together—both on and off cases—the more impossible it seemed to keep your growing bond a secret.

Growing Together

The weeks passed with surprising ease. You and Spencer began doing things together outside of work—real, honest-to-God dates. You went to that quiet café again, and Spencer insisted on getting the most obscure drink on the menu to make you laugh. You went to see a movie, and instead of just watching it, you spent the entire time discussing the plot afterward, each of you analyzing the other’s take on the characters and the themes. You cooked together more often, laughing when things went wrong, and celebrating when things went right. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

You realized, as your connection deepened, that it wasn’t the moments of perfection that mattered. It was the moments where you were both present. Where, even in the chaos of your careers, there was a softness between you that felt like home.

Spencer began leaving little notes for you—little reminders of things, like “don’t forget to hydrate” or “call me when you’re done with your shift so I can hear your voice.” They were small things, but they meant more than he could know. The affection was there, and it was becoming more tangible with each passing day.

One evening, as you walked out of the precinct after another long shift, Spencer stopped at the door and turned to face you. His expression was quiet, earnest.

“You know, we’re kind of doing this,” he said softly, his hand finding yours in a gesture that felt so natural. “A real relationship. No more pretending.”

You smiled back at him, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest. “Yeah, we are.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Leak That Led to Living Together

Things between you and Spencer had only grown closer, and you were starting to feel more at ease with your relationship. But one evening, after another grueling case, you got a call from your landlord about the persistent leak in your bathroom. The water had been dripping for weeks, and no matter how many times you had contacted maintenance, nothing had been fixed.

When you’d first reported it, the landlord’s maintenance team had insisted it was just a small issue with the seal around the tub—an easy fix, or so they’d claimed. But the leak hadn’t gone away. Instead, it had grown worse, and the water had started to spread beyond the bathroom floor, staining the ceiling beneath it.

This time, the landlord called with an update, telling you that the plumber had discovered a more serious problem. After taking a closer look at the pipes, they’d realized there was extensive water damage to the plumbing, likely caused by a burst pipe that had been slowly leaking for a while. The entire system needed to be replaced, and unfortunately, the damage was so severe that the apartment was now uninhabitable.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” the landlord said over the phone. “But it’s going to take weeks to fix this, and it’s not safe for you to stay there.”

You stared at the phone, feeling an odd sense of dread creep into your chest. Your apartment, the one place you’d tried to make home, was no longer a safe place to live. And now, you had no idea where to go.

That evening, you called Spencer, you could hear the usual soft smile that sat on his face in his voice, and when you explained the situation with the apartment, you could hear it drop and the sound of concern taking its place.

“You could… move in with me,” Spencer suggested after a long pause, his voice almost hesitant. “I know it’s sudden, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I have the space. You could even have the guest bedroom if you want.”

The offer hung in the air between you, filled with the weight of a thousand unsaid words. On one hand, it felt like a natural step forward; on the other, it made everything feel even more real. You’d only just started to find your rhythm with Spencer, and now you were being asked to share more than just occasional meals or nights spent watching movies. You were being asked to share your life.

“I don’t want to impose,” you said slowly, but deep down, you knew you needed something—someone—and Spencer had always been there for you.

“It’s not an imposition. I promise. And besides,” he added with a playful tone, “you’ve already spent enough time in my apartment, you might as well move in anyway.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing. It didn’t feel like a big leap anymore. It felt like a logical step. So, with a sigh of relief, you agreed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Living Together

The transition to living together was smoother than you expected. You slowly brought in a few of your things, mostly clothes, some books, and a few personal mementos. Spencer had insisted on helping you rearrange the guest bedroom to make it more comfortable, though you mostly ended up sharing his room. His apartment, for all its quiet, neatness, had always felt a little impersonal—a place to sleep, a place to work. But now, with your things scattered around, it felt… like home.

The first week was awkward in some ways, but those little things that had once been awkward became comforting. Like how you both gravitated toward the kitchen to cook together or how Spencer would leave a cup of coffee on the counter for you, even though he knew you’d be up hours before him. There was the gentle hum of everyday life—the kind of life you hadn’t expected to build with anyone.

As the weeks went by, there were still moments when you caught each other’s eyes, the depth of your connection reflected in the soft gaze you exchanged. Spencer was still Spencer—quirky, brilliant, and occasionally awkward—but now, there was something more. Something comforting. Something real.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The BAU's Subtle Observations

It started with a few casual glances. A look exchanged when you thought no one was watching. Spencer offering you a small, private smile after a long day. Nothing overt, nothing that would raise suspicion… or so you thought. But of course, you weren’t fooling anyone.

It was a Tuesday morning when Emily Prentiss, ever perceptive, first noticed the change.

You were at the FBI field office, surrounded by your team, sorting through case files and preparing for a briefing. Spencer was deep in conversation with Hotch, his voice low and focused, but every time you passed him to grab a file, he would offer you a look—an expression of something deeper than just professional respect.

Emily raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange. You didn’t think she caught it, but you were wrong.

After the briefing, as the team dispersed to prep for the next part of the case, Emily approached you casually, her voice light but her eyes sharp.

“Everything okay between you and Spencer?” she asked, a small, knowing smirk on her face.

You stiffened, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, why?"

Emily shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a glint of amusement in her gaze. "I don’t know, just seems like you two have... chemistry." She paused, leaning in as if to whisper. "I mean, more than usual. Like… special chemistry."

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t hide the flush creeping up your neck. “We’re just… working together, Em. You know how it is.”

Emily didn’t press any further, but she wasn’t buying it. She gave you one last look—a blend of curiosity and something close to satisfaction—before moving away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Derek’s Unsubtle Observations

The next person to pick up on it was Derek Morgan. Of course, Derek. He had a way of reading people, of catching little things that others missed. And Spencer, despite his usual oblivion, wasn’t immune to Derek’s sharp eyes.

It was during a case briefing that Derek shot you an exaggerated grin from across the table. You felt a little off balance as he did, glancing over at Spencer who, of course, seemed blissfully unaware—head down, focused on the whiteboard.

When Derek caught your eye again, he leaned toward you, his voice lowered just enough that no one else could hear.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Reid. He’s definitely been… extra concerned about you lately.”

You froze, trying to remain casual, but Derek wasn’t having it.

“Extra careful, extra protective,” Derek continued, a grin tugging at his lips. "I mean, I can’t blame him. But it’s cute, the way you two dance around it."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you kept your tone steady. “You’re reading too much into it, Derek. We’re just… working the case together.” You realized too late that saying the words out loud didn’t make it sound any more convincing.

Derek’s grin only widened. "Oh yeah? 'Cause it sure looks like you’re both trying really hard not to actually admit what’s going on here."

You shook your head, trying to laugh it off. “Drop it, Derek.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say. Just don’t be surprised if the whole office catches on sooner or later.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hotch and JJ’s Quiet Knowing

By the end of the week, the rumors were practically brewing behind closed doors. Even Hotch had noticed. You had no idea how, but there was something in his eyes when he looked between you and Spencer—a hint of quiet awareness.

You were in the middle of a strategy session, with the entire team gathered in the conference room. Spencer and you were standing next to each other, closer than usual, both scanning a map for clues. When you turned to point something out to Spencer, his hand brushed yours, and it was the lightest of touches, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Hotch.

Later, as the team filed out, Hotch approached you with a quiet, almost fatherly tone.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “if you and Spencer are figuring things out, just be careful. This kind of thing... it can get complicated.”

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected Hotch—of all people—to bring it up. But of course, he’d been around long enough to know how these things worked. He knew how the lines between work and personal life could blur, especially in an environment like this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quickly, your voice a little too high-pitched to sound casual.

Hotch gave you a small, understanding nod. “Just remember what’s at stake. I trust both of you. But you need to be sure about what this is.”

You swallowed hard. “We’re just... getting to know each other, sir.”

Hotch didn’t press further, but his look lingered, as though he was waiting for you to come to him with the truth when you were ready.

When you walked out of the room, you saw JJ talking quietly with Emily and Derek, her eyes flicking between the two of you. You knew they were all trying to be respectful, giving you the space to sort things out. But there was no doubt in your mind now that the cat was out of the bag. They all knew.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Unit's Observations

It wasn’t just the BAU team that was starting to piece together what was happening between you and Spencer. Your own unit had begun to notice, too—particularly when it came to your seemingly frequent visits to the BAU.

It was a Friday morning when the comments started. You had just wrapped up a case with your team and had come over to the BAU to debrief, a habit that had become almost routine since you and Spencer started spending more time together. It wasn’t unusual for you to drop by, but your colleagues had begun to raise eyebrows at how often you were around—and this time, they weren't going to let it slide.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A Casual Observation

You were sitting at your desk, chatting with a few agents from your unit about the latest case developments when one of your colleagues, Michelle, leaned against the back of your chair. She had a mischievous grin on her face, and you could tell something was coming.

"Y/N," Michelle said casually, her tone teasing, "I think I need to have a little chat with you."

You turned to look at her, pretending to look confused. "About what?"

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "About how you're always over at the BAU. And not just when you're assigned to a case with them." She paused, making it sound as casual as possible. "I mean, you’re like a permanent fixture over there now. Kind of makes a person wonder if you're spending more time with them than you are with us.”

The rest of your team, who had been quietly watching the exchange, shifted in their seats, clearly waiting for your response. You laughed nervously, trying to play it off.

“What can I say? I’m just a really good team player," you replied, your tone light. "We’ve got a great working relationship. You know how it is."

Michelle leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Uh-huh. A ‘working relationship.’ Sure. So, are you really just popping over there to discuss case files and not, you know, just hanging out with your ‘husband’ Reid?”

You froze, eyes widening slightly. You had thought you were being subtle, but apparently, you hadn’t been as stealthy as you’d hoped. You shot Michelle a mock glare.

“Really?” you said, trying to hide the warmth rising in your cheeks. “You’re going to start with that?”

Michelle just grinned. “You know, the team’s been talking. We’re not blind. Besides he is your “husband”, we’re just waiting for you to admit it.”

Before you could come up with a clever response, another colleague, Greg, chimed in, his tone light but unmistakably teasing.

“Yeah, Y/N, you’re always over there, like, even when you don’t have a case to work on. And when you do show up, you’re practically glued to Spencer’s side. We get it—he’s a great guy, but you don’t have to keep pretending you’re just there to consult. We can tell what's going on.”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, though you tried to keep it under control. "You guys are crazy. There’s nothing going on."

But your colleagues weren’t buying it. They exchanged knowing looks, their grins widening.

“I don’t know,” Greg said, nudging Michelle playfully. “I think we’ve been more than patient. It’s time for Y/N to spill the beans. Don’t you think?”

Michelle gave you a sideways glance. “Seriously, Y/N, you can’t fool us anymore. We’ve all seen the way Spencer looks at you. And, well... you’re always there.”

You laughed awkwardly, realizing there was no point in denying it.

"Okay, okay," you relented with a sigh, finally conceding. "You got me. It’s not just casework. Spencer and I... we’ve been spending time together."

The team’s reaction was immediate. Greg, with his usual playful grin, said, "Well, it’s about time!" while Michelle gave you a satisfied smirk. “Told you, Y/N. We can spot a love story from a mile away.”

But it was when your unit chief, Captain Harris, finally spoke up that you knew it was all over. He had been quiet during the exchange, simply observing with his arms crossed.

“I’m not one for gossip," he said, his voice low but carrying a sense of humor that you hadn’t expected. "But I gotta say, you’ve been spending a lot of time with the BAU lately. If you’re gonna keep coming around here, at least bring us some donuts next time. You know, for your ‘official work-related visits.’”

The group erupted into laughter, and for the first time in days, you found yourself relaxing. They weren’t angry, just amused. Your unit might’ve been a little surprised by the news, but they had no problem with it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The BAU’s Silent Understanding

Back at the BAU headquarters later that day, the air was thick with unsaid words. Spencer was caught up in a phone call with Penelope, and you found yourself sitting with Emily at the desk, both of you pretending to focus on paperwork while silently trying to decipher the elephant in the room.

“So,” Emily said, finally breaking the silence. “You and Spencer…?”

You tried not to flinch, trying to maintain a cool facade. “We’re fine, Em. Really.”

Emily’s eyes softened, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not going to push you. But... if you two are figuring it out, I just want you to know that we’re here for you. You don’t have to hide it.”

You glanced over at Spencer, still engrossed in his conversation, and your heart squeezed in your chest. Could you really keep this hidden? Could you keep him hidden? The bond you shared felt undeniable, and yet, the idea of anyone else knowing—of being out in the open—was terrifying.

“I know,” you said softly. “It’s just... we’re not sure yet. I don’t want to make things complicated for the team. For us.”

Emily nodded, her smile understanding. “Yeah, I get that. But trust me, no one’s going to judge you. If you and Spencer want to take this further, you just have to trust yourselves.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, though inside, you weren’t as sure as you wanted to be. Everyone—your coworkers, the BAU—had started to catch on, and it was only a matter of time before the truth came spilling out.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Unspoken Decision

That night, after the case had wrapped up, you found yourself alone with Spencer in the quiet of the bullpen. The weight of everything—the team’s observations, the unspoken tension, the growing closeness between you—was pressing down on you, making it hard to think clearly.

Spencer was typing something on his laptop, oblivious to your thoughts. You stood in the doorway of his office, watching him, feeling a strange mix of longing and uncertainty.

Finally, Spencer looked up, sensing your presence. His expression was open, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were feeling.

“We need to talk, don’t we?” he said quietly.

You nodded, taking a step toward him, your heart racing.

“I think we do.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Slow Unraveling

Over the next few weeks, the quiet buzz around you and Spencer only grew. The teams was trying to be subtle—too subtle—but it didn’t take much to realize that they knew. The way their eyes would flicker between you and Spencer, the little smirks, the awkward attempts to cover up knowing smiles. You and Spencer tried your best to act normal, but it felt like the world was watching.

You were in the bullpen, sorting through case files, when Spencer walked up behind you, his voice soft but steady. “You find what you need?”

His presence was always comforting, but you could feel it today—there was an unspoken electricity between the two of you. You’d been careful not to make it obvious, but everything had changed since that first kiss. The way you found yourself seeking his gaze. The way your heart skipped a beat whenever his hand brushed against yours.

You nodded absently, trying to focus on the task at hand. But when Spencer leaned over to grab a file, his shoulder brushed against yours, and you could feel your pulse quicken.

“I’ll check in with Penelope about the latest report,” Spencer said, his voice steady, but you could hear the underlying warmth in it.

You didn’t reply immediately. Instead, you let yourself feel the quiet, unspoken weight of the moment. Spencer was always careful with you, and for some reason, that mattered more than it ever had before.

“I’ll be right here,” you finally managed, turning back to your work, trying to act like you weren’t both navigating a minefield of what comes next. 

Spencer paused for just a second longer than necessary, and then he was gone, his steps light but purposeful.

And you were left behind, quietly trembling in the wake of his presence.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Emily's Subtle Prodding

It wasn’t just Spencer who was making things harder for you to ignore. Emily had, by now, practically perfected the art of nonchalantly mentioning things you could never fully ignore.

“Y/N, I was thinking we could grab lunch after this,” Emily said, her voice casual, but there was something in her tone that made you pause. You raised an eyebrow, instinctively looking toward Spencer, who was still at the other end of the bullpen, typing something on his laptop.

Emily leaned in, her voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to give me a play-by-play of the Reid Chronicles,” she teased, though there was a glimmer of something else in her eyes. “But, you know, if you and Spencer want to talk about whatever this is—whatever you are—feel free to do it over lunch. I’m just here for the ride.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t realized how much the team was piecing together—especially Emily, who was always so astute.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said with a forced laugh, though even you could hear the falter in your voice.

Emily gave you a soft smile, her expression almost too knowing. “Right,” she said, the grin still lingering. “Just thought you might want someone to talk to.”

You met her gaze for a moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you. She knows, you thought. And maybe, everyone else did too.

You couldn't deny it anymore—things were no longer subtle. Emily’s knowing smile was only the beginning. The team had been dropping hints, making observations that were becoming harder to ignore. You could feel the weight of their knowing looks whenever you and Spencer exchanged a quiet glance or lingered a second too long in conversation. It was like living in a house with the walls closing in. No matter how much you tried to downplay it, the quiet buzz was building, and soon enough, it was going to explode.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Teasing Begins

Of course, it was Derek who noticed first. He was never one to miss anything, and the way he watched the two of you in the bullpen, you could tell he had put two and two together. It was the way Spencer had kept glancing at you—his gaze filled with something new, something unspoken. The way you two had been spending more time together lately, working late into the evening, sharing quiet moments that didn’t go unnoticed.

It all came to a head one morning during a case briefing. Spencer was scribbling equations and notes on the whiteboard, and you were at the table, trying to stay focused. But Derek was looking at the two of you with that mischievous grin on his face, clearly enjoying whatever he had figured out.

"Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Reid," Derek said, his voice laced with teasing, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You’ve been... extra attentive to Y/N lately. Extra careful, extra protective."

"Yeah," Derek continued, turning to you. "I can see the way you two look at each other. It’s like you’re trying real hard to pretend you’re not a thing."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "Derek, it’s not like that," you said, trying to deflect.

"Oh, come on," Derek said, his grin widening. "You’ve been hanging out a lot more, spending all this time together... and don’t get me started on how you two finish each other’s sentences."

 "What are you talking about, Derek?" Spencer asked, clearly oblivious to what Derek was implying.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You two are too cute for your own good. And I’ve got to say, it’s about time."

You groaned inwardly, glancing at Spencer again. The last thing you needed was for the whole team to catch on.

Before you could respond, Derek added with a wink, "Just make sure you two don’t get too distracted on the next case, alright? We all need you sharp, not distracted by how adorable you are together."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hotch’s Proposition

It didn’t take long for Hotch to catch wind of the situation. He was always observant, always reading between the lines, and you had a feeling he knew something was going on with you and Spencer.

One afternoon, when the case was on hold for a moment, Hotch asked you to step into his office.

"Y/N," Hotch began, closing the door behind you. He seemed unusually serious. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

You gave a quick nod, trying not to let the nervous energy in your chest show. "Sure, Hotch. What’s up?"

"I’ve noticed you’ve been around more often," he said. "Not just on cases, but in general. Whether it's to consult or to visit Spencer, you’re practically a regular. This way, it’ll just be… more convenient. You’ll have access to all the resources here, and we can stop pretending that you’re not already basically a member of the team." Hotch shrugged, his smirk widening. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness. You appreciated his directness, and in a way, his offer felt like the culmination of everything that had already been happening. You had spent more time with the BAU than any outsider in recent memory, and not just for casework.

"I’m guessing this means you don’t mind having me around permanently?" you teased, half-expecting Hotch to shut down the joke.

But Hotch surprised you again, his smile turning more genuine. "You’re one of the best agents I’ve seen, Y/N. That’s why I’m offering you a permanent spot. We could use someone like you."

You felt a rush of pride at his words, but you also felt the weight of the decision. Joining the BAU wasn’t just a job—it was a life choice. Spencer and you had already crossed the threshold from colleagues to spouses. If you took this step, there was no going back.

"Let me think about it, Hotch," you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

"Take your time, you’ve got a lot to think about." he said with a small nod, his expression softening. "I just wanted to make sure you knew the offer was on the table, we’re all in this together. And I think Spencer would be happy to have you stay—officially, but don’t take too long. I think Spencer might be getting jealous of how much time you spend here."

You nodded slowly, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I’ll think about it,” then chucked, “and I’ll be sure to tell him to keep his distance," you said, only half-joking.

Hotch’s smile was almost affectionate as he waved you off. "Good. Because if he keeps showing up to work with a take-out coffee for you, we’re going to have to have another conversation."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Decision: Joining the BAU

A week later, you found yourself walking into Hotch’s office once again, this time with an answer. Spencer had teased you endlessly about your long deliberations, but you had already made up your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right step for both your career and your relationship.

"I’ve thought about it," you said, standing in the doorway of Hotch’s office. "I’m in. I’ll transfer into the BAU. Just… don’t regret it."

Hotch looked pleased, but he gave you a knowing look. "Regret? Not a chance. Welcome to the team."

And with that, your new chapter truly began.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Turning Point

Another week had gone by and you and Spencer were working late again. The case had been closed for hours, the team long gone by now, but you both had stayed behind to tie up loose ends. The quiet felt different now—calm, but charged with the weight of unspoken things. Spencer had just finished his report and was gathering his things when you caught his eye.

"You want to talk about it?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, his fingers frozen over the edge of his laptop. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, and for the first time in days, you saw the hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"I don’t think we can keep pretending that nothing’s happening," he said quietly, voice low but certain.

You felt your heart race. You had been trying to be so careful, so mindful of not making things too real too soon. But now, standing there with Spencer, the weight of everything between you finally felt like something worth acknowledging.

"I don’t want to lie anymore," you admitted. "Not to them. Not to ourselves."

Spencer’s lips curled into a small smile—tender, like a promise. "Me neither."

And just like that, in the quiet of the bullpen, the truth hung between you. You weren’t just figuring it out. You knew.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Telling the Team

The next day, after a brief but tense conversation with Spencer, you decided it was time to tell the team. It had to happen. There was no denying it anymore—they had figured it out long ago, and trying to keep it under wraps felt like an act of avoidance. It was time to own it.

You and Spencer had agreed that this would be a joint decision. It wasn’t just about you anymore—it was about both of you, navigating a new chapter in front of people you respected and trusted.

At the end of the day, as the team gathered in the break room to grab a quick bite before the next round of interviews, you stood by the door with Spencer, exchanging a glance.

"Do you think we’re ready for this?" you asked him softly.

He nodded, a small but sure gesture. "We’ve been ready since that first case."

You smiled and then walked into the room, feeling the team’s eyes immediately flicker to you both. The silence was almost oppressive as you and Spencer shared one last, unspoken look before you took a breath and spoke.

"Listen, guys…" you began, your voice steady but filled with the truth. "Spencer and I… we’ve been, well, figuring some things out. And I guess it’s time you knew—we’re together. Officially."

The room was still for a moment, and then Derek broke into a wide grin, clapping Spencer on the back. "Finally!" he exclaimed, clearly delighted. "Took you two long enough."

JJ and Emily exchanged knowing looks, while Hotch’s expression remained neutral, though there was a small flicker of approval in his eyes. Penelope practically bounced in her seat.

"I knew it!" Penelope exclaimed, grinning. "The lovebirds finally came clean!"

You and Spencer exchanged a quiet laugh at the chaos, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as the team erupted into laughter and teasing. It wasn’t just about the case anymore. It was about the two of you, and you had no idea what the future held—but you were both ready to face it, together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A Real Beginning

The days following your confession to the team were a whirlwind of adjustments. There was no more hiding between the lines or pretending that nothing had changed. Now that everyone knew, you and Spencer could finally breathe—and, more importantly, finally be.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Subtle Shift: Something More

The team was thrilled, though their reactions were a mix of teasing and support. Derek had joked about needing to buy wedding gifts, and Emily kept giving you knowing winks whenever Spencer was around. But beneath it all, there was a sense of ease that settled over the group—a sense of understanding that allowed you and Spencer to stop hiding, to stop pretending.

The strangest thing was how quickly your relationship settled into something more. What had started as an arrangement born of circumstance and convenience slowly, almost imperceptibly, turned into something deeper. The quiet moments shared in the hallways, the soft touches that were no longer brushed off as incidental, the steady, almost intimate communication that felt like second nature now.

There was the evening when Spencer came to your apartment after a long day of casework. You were both exhausted, but he’d insisted on making you dinner. He had done this before—he’d made you pasta, insisting that it was the "quickest recipe I know," only to end up with a kitchen disaster that both of you found hilarious. This time, though, it was different. The food was actually good, and there was no need for any laughing off awkwardness.

As you sat down to eat, Spencer caught your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You know," he said softly, "I think we’re… actually pretty good at this. The not-pretending part."

You raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised by his bluntness. "You mean being married?"

Spencer’s expression softened. "Yeah. That."

You chewed on your lip for a second, looking at him from across the table. The way he’d said it, with such quiet sincerity, made your heart ache in a way that was becoming more and more familiar. Spencer wasn’t just your husband by law anymore. He was someone you needed, someone you wanted, in ways that went beyond the comfort of knowing him as a colleague.

"I don’t know what this is, Spencer," you admitted, feeling a bit vulnerable in the quiet of the evening, "but I think it’s something real. Something I didn’t expect."

He smiled—a slow, warm smile that made your chest tighten. "I think I’d like to see where it goes. Together."

And that was when you both realized that the line between work and personal had faded. You were no longer just co-workers trying to make the best of an unexpected situation. You were… something more.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Proposal As the weeks passed, life with the BAU began to feel like the new normal. Your official transfer had gone through without fanfare, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. The dynamics of the team hadn’t changed—they were still as close-knit and unpredictable as ever—but now, there was a certain comfort in the way you and Spencer moved through the day. There was no need to keep your distance, no need to hide in the shadows or keep your relationship a secret. You were married. And, as the days turned into weeks, it became clear that your bond wasn’t just about paperwork—it was about something deeper, something more permanent.

Work was busy, as always, but there was a rhythm to your days now. Spencer, ever the brilliant mind, worked alongside you seamlessly, your roles in cases complementing each other. The team continued to tease you both, of course, but it was all lighthearted, filled with the camaraderie you had long come to expect. They had known the truth for some time, but now it was something everyone could openly acknowledge—without the lingering tension that had once colored those moments. Every stolen glance, every brush of hands, was no longer something you had to hide. It was something you could share with them, as well as with each other.

Yet, despite the ease of these days, there was an unspoken weight between you and Spencer—an unresolved feeling that neither of you had fully addressed. You’d already tied the knot in a way that felt true, but there was still something more, something unspoken that lingered in the quiet moments you shared. It wasn’t about a grand gesture or a fancy ceremony—it was about the commitment, the promise you had made to one another, in the simplest and most profound way. But Spencer was never one to leave things unsaid for long.

It all started with a case. Well, several cases, but one, in particular, brought you closer to Spencer Reid than you'd ever imagined. You had worked together on many investigations before, but this one was different. The case was grueling, and you had been called in to help, as usual. Your skillset and unique perspective had proven valuable to the team, and you had spent many late nights alongside Spencer, working through the complexities of the investigation.

One of those nights, after the rest of the team had gone home, you found yourself in the bullpen with Spencer, still poring over case files. The atmosphere in the office was quiet, almost intimate in the way you two moved around each other without saying much, both absorbed in the work.

Then, unexpectedly, Spencer stopped what he was doing and looked up at you.

"Y/N," he began, his voice tentative, "can I ask you something?"

You turned toward him, still absorbed in your own thoughts but curious at the change in his demeanor. Spencer’s gaze was intense, but it held something new, something vulnerable.

"Sure," you replied, wondering what was going on in that head of his.

Spencer hesitated for a long moment before speaking again, his words coming out in a rush. "Would you... would you marry me?"

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "What?"

He immediately regretted it. You could see it in his face as he stammered, "I mean, not like marry me, marry me, but... it just seemed like the simplest way to... well, to say it."

"Say what?" you asked, trying to make sense of his jumble of words.

Spencer flushed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. I just—I thought... we’ve been working together so much, and I feel like we get each other, and—"

It clicked. You knew exactly what he meant. You’d felt it too—the late-night talks, the comfortable silences, the connection that had been there all along, unspoken, lingering in the air between the two of you.

You smiled softly, your voice quiet but warm. "Okay. I’ll marry you."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A Simple Wedding

The wedding that followed was everything you both wanted: small, intimate, and full of love. No big ceremony, just the team gathered around you in a quiet chapel, smiling and congratulating you. Spencer, dressed in a suit, looked more handsome than you had ever seen him. You, in a simple but elegant dress, felt like the luckiest person alive.

The vows were short but meaningful, exchanged between only the two of you, as your team stood by your side. No formal speeches, no extravagant rituals. Just love, spoken in simple words.

“I vow to always listen, always be there, and to love you, in all the ways that I can, for as long as I can,” Spencer said, his voice quiet but steady.

You smiled, your own vows coming out as you held his hand tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I vow to stand by you, through everything, and to love you in all the small moments as much as the big ones. I promise to always choose you, every single day.”

And as you walked out of the chapel hand-in-hand, you knew this was only the beginning.

No more secrets. No more pretending. Just the future you had always hoped for, finally in your grasp.

The day of the wedding arrived—quiet, intimate, and beautiful. No huge fanfare, just the people who mattered most: your closest friends, the team. Derek was there, teasing you both just as he always did, while Emily and JJ shared warm, knowing smiles. Penelope dabbed at her eyes, trying to hide her tears, and Hotch gave the kind of approving nod that you knew came from a place of true warmth.

The ceremony itself was simple—held in a small chapel, surrounded by the team, who had supported you both through the hardest and best of times. Spencer stood beside you, his hands slightly trembling as you exchanged vows.

When the officiant pronounced you both married, you kissed Spencer again—this time, without hesitation. The kiss was filled with everything you had been through together, and everything that was still to come.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Future

Later, as you walked out of the chapel, hand-in-hand, Spencer leaned toward you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m glad we did this,” he said, his hand tightening around yours.

“Me too,” you replied softly, resting your head on his shoulder. Together, you stepped out into the future, finally knowing that it wasn’t just about the wedding—it was about the life you would build together.

[purseowner4thequalityanimation]

SMT Boardgame Kickstarter Smells Like Suspicious Fish

There's an SMT boardgame. Curb your enthusiasm, you shouldn't back it. And if you did, lower your pledge to like a buck until they clear things up, because as it stands it seems like an incredibly suspect product.

Checking through the Kickstarter comments and Japanese Tweets about the boardgame makes the entire thing seem poorly planned at best. I'll summarize as best I can;

The designer is incredibly infamous in the boardgame community

Naoki Matsunaga, a self-described "board game sommelier", is the designer. You'll find tweets lamenting that "the board game sommelier is involved". Why is he so hated? This thread goes into detail: co_boze on twitter. Part of it is they bashed Werewolf over one game they saw of it, another is they took on a kind of public-face role for boardgames appearing on late night TV shows to talk about them in ways that annoyed boardgamers. They seem to have designed a boardgame based on "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People" which ripped off Sid Sackson's 'I'm the Boss". But it's what co_boze talks about next that's really bizarre. The game was apparently banned from most board game cafes and playing spaces. Seminars where people could play the game were hosted, but the venues that hosted these seminars all closed down.

If you keep looking through comments, you start finding claims that his company does multi-level marketing (ie pyramid schemes). To be honest, I don't know if this is true. But even if it isn't, it is really not hard to find people who know of this guy and would really really really REALLY prefer he was not involved.

"Oh fuck, it's THIS guy" is not a reaction that inspires confidence

2. Questionable development and presentation issues.

A regular collaborator with Atlus recently tweeted "The use of AI in Atlus works or derivative works is stictly prohibited." He responded to a reply asking if this was about a board game.

The staff running the SMT BG Kickstarter later clarified the actual -game- wouldn't use AI graphics... but from the looks of it, the promotional materials do.

Dig that... generic metal pipe aesthetic. Nothing screams MegaTen like black plumbing to nowhere.

In totally unrelated news, a board game manufacturer recently tweeted that a Kickstarter used their name without permission, and they're not sure why.

Quote tweets on the post would suggest it was the SMT board game. The comment they are loosely referring to is this:

In a follow-up post, they do specify "The product figures will be made of PVC." and "We will be manufacturing the games in partnership with a factory in China that has a proven track record... " "Figure director Kimura Yuzuru has over 10 years of experience..." and other boring development stuff that I have no issue with. What I do have issue with is how they can say things like they're "considering" which manufacturer to use and namedropping other companies that they're unrelated with. (While I was typing this post, they posted an update that clarified the CMON issue and literally nothing else: here.)

The boardgame is being presented with machine translated English printed on the same cards as the Japanese. But the actual game will have a translator check everything.

they hire translators to localize all game content

Additionally, there was a week long radio silence on the Kickstarter. For reference, Kickstarters are normally very active with the project planners dropping updates, responding to feedback and clearing up any concerns.

Some of the concerns were "How does the game actually play?", a question that would be best answered by dropping a rulebook for people to look at, or better yet showing them an entire run of the game. The SMT BG Kickstarter has boldly chosen neither. Devs have commented the game is on Version 11 and plays well, which makes it strange that they can't share any of it with anyone else.

Actually, when you compare this to how most Kickstarters are run, it becomes very clear the SMT BG Kickstarter is, uh, kinda failing in all possible regards. The first Backer Goal is "Jack Frost Dice" at 2000 backers (not funds raised, BACKERS). Despite getting 300%(!!!) of the initial pledge needed, there are no bonuses or unlocks.

Mind, this lack of information comes after they already delayed the start to supposedly improve Backer Goals and other aspects.

There aren't a shortage of issues - it's ICREA's first boardgame (but not their first tango with SMT; they made the SMT30th Logo, for instance.) The timeline seems totally wack. The staff have been incredibly slow to respond. Cards with tiny font and two languages printed on them. Etc, etc. Maybe individually these issues wouldn't be too concerning. But all of them combined make the product seem incompetently run at best, and at worst an actual scam.

I'm hardly a big influencer in the SMT scene (my biggest contribution is when that fucking succubus gif gets 36k likes on Twitter every 5 months) but I haven't seen any English speaking sources discuss this in detail, when there really should be at least some noise about all of this. Still. if just one of you end up saving 600 bucks on what ends up being a trashfire carcrash project because of this post, then that'll have made the past 30 minutes of typing this shit worth it.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Autopsy

Autopsy - dissection and examination of a dead body and its organs and structures.

The word autopsy is derived from the Greek autopsia, meaning “the act of seeing for oneself.”

Also known as: necropsy, postmortem, postmortem examination

Why is an autopsy done?

To determine the cause of death

When a suspicious or unexpected death occurs

To observe the effects of disease; when there's a public health concern, such as an outbreak with an undetermined cause

To establish the evolution and mechanisms of disease processes

When no doctor knows the deceased well enough to state a cause of death and to sign the death certificate

When the doctor, the family or legally responsible designee of the deceased person requests an autopsy

Who does the autopsy?

Autopsies ordered by the state can be done by a county coroner, who is not necessarily a doctor

A medical examiner who does an autopsy is a doctor, usually a pathologist

Clinical autopsies are always done by a pathologist

How is an autopsy done?

After the patient is pronounced dead by a physician, the body is wrapped in a sheet or shroud and transported to the morgue, where it is held in a refrigeration unit until the autopsy.

Autopsies are rarely performed at night.

Autopsy practice was largely developed in Germany, and an autopsy assistant is traditionally honored with the title "diener", which is German for "helper".

The prosector and diener wear fairly simple protective equipment, including scrub suits, gowns, gloves (typically two pair), shoe covers, and clear plastic face shields.

The body is identified and lawful consent obtained.

The procedure is done with respect and seriousness.

The prevailing mood in the autopsy room is curiosity, scientific interest, and pleasure at being able to find the truth and share it.

Most pathologists choose their specialty, at least in part, because they like finding the real answers.

Many autopsy services have a sign, "This is the place where death rejoices to help those who live." Usually it is written in Latin ("Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae").

EXTERNAL EXAMINATION

The prosector checks to make sure that the body is that of the patient named on the permit by checking the toe tag or patient wristband ID.

The body is placed on the autopsy table.

Experienced dieners, even those of slight build, can transfer even obese bodies from the carriage to the table without assistance.

Since the comfort of the patient is no longer a consideration, this transfer is accomplished with what appears to the uninitiated a rather brutal combination of pulls and shoves, not unlike the way a thug might manhandle a mugging victim.

The body is measured.

Large facilities may have total-body scales, so that a weight can be obtained.

The autopsy table is a waist-high aluminum fixture that is plumbed for running water and has several faucets and spigots to facilitate washing away all the blood that is released during the procedure.

Older hospitals may still have porcelain or even marble tables.

The autopsy table is basically a slanted tray (for drainage) with raised edges (to keep blood and fluids from flowing onto the floor).

After the body is positioned, the diener places a "body block" under the patient's back. This rubber or plastic brick-like appliance causes the chest to protrude outward and the arms and neck to fall back, thus allowing the maximum exposure of the trunk for the incisions.

Abnormalities of the external body surfaces are then noted and described, either by talking into a voice recorder or making notes on a diagram and/or checklist.

OPENING THE TRUNK

The diener takes a large scalpel and makes the incision in the trunk. This is a Y-shaped incision. The arms of the Y extend from the front of each shoulder to the bottom end of the breast bone (called the xiphoid process of the sternum). In women, these incisions are diverted beneath the breasts, so the "Y" has curved, rather than straight, arms. The tail of the Y extends from the xiphoid process to the pubic bone and typically makes a slight deviation to avoid the umbilicus (navel). The incision is very deep, extending to the rib cage on the chest, and completely through the abdominal wall below that.

With the Y incision made, the next task is to peel the skin, muscle, and soft tissues off the chest wall. This is done with a scalpel. When complete, the chest flap is pulled upward over the patient's face, and the front of the rib cage and the strap muscles of the front of the neck lie exposed. Human muscle smells not unlike raw lamb meat in my opinion. At this point of the autopsy, the smells are otherwise very faint.

An electric saw or bone cutter (which looks a lot like curved pruning shears) is used to open the rib cage. One cut is made up each side of the front of the rib cage, so that the chest plate, consisting of the sternum and the ribs which connect to it, are no longer attached to the rest of the skeleton. The chest plate is pulled back and peeled off with a little help of the scalpel, which is used to dissect the adherent soft tissues stuck to the back of the chest plate. After the chest plate has been removed, the organs of the chest (heart and lungs) are exposed (the heart is actually covered by the pericardial sac).

Before disturbing the organs further, the prosector cuts open the pericardial sac, then the pulmonary artery where it exits the heart. He sticks his finger into the hole in the pulmonary artery and feels around for any thromboembolus (a blood clot which has dislodged from a vein elsewhere in the body, traveled through the heart to the pulmonary artery, lodged there, and caused sudden death. This is a common cause of death in hospitalized patients).

The abdomen is further opened by dissecting the abdominal muscle away from the bottom of the rib cage and diaphragm. The flaps of abdominal wall fall off to either side, and the abdominal organs are now exposed.

REMOVING THE ORGANS OF THE TRUNK

The most typical method of organ removal is called the "Rokitansky method." This is not unlike field dressing a deer. The dissection begins at the neck and proceeds downward, so that eventually all the organs of the trunk are removed from the body in one bloc.

The first thing the diener does is to identify the carotid and subclavian arteries in the neck and upper chest. He ties a long string to each and then cuts them off, so that the ties are left in the body. This allows the mortician to more easily find the arteries for injection of the embalming fluids.

A cut is them made above the larynx, detaching the larynx and esophagus from the pharynx. The larynx and trachea are then pulled downward, and the scalpel is used to free up the remainder of the chest organs from their attachment at the spine.

The diaphragm is cut away from the body wall, and the abdominal organs are pulled out and down.

Finally, all of the organs are attached to the body only by the pelvic ligaments, bladder, and rectum.

A single slash with the scalpel divides this connection, and all of the organs are now free in one block. The diener hands this organ bloc to the prosector. The prosector takes the organ bloc to a dissecting table (which is often mounted over the patient's legs) and dissects it. Meanwhile, the diener proceeds to remove the brain.

Another method is called Virchow method, which entails removing organs individually.

EXAMINATION OF THE ORGANS OF THE TRUNK

At the dissection table, the prosector typically dissects and isolates the esophagus from the rest of the chest organs. This is usually done simply by pulling it away without help of a blade (a technique called "blunt dissection"). The chest organs are then cut away from the abdominal organs and esophagus with scissors. The lungs are cut away from the heart and trachea and weighed, then sliced like loaves of bread into slices about one centimeter thick. A long (12" - 18"), sharp knife, called a "bread knife" is used for this.

The heart is weighed and opened along the pathway of normal blood flow using the bread knife or scissors. Old-time pathologists look down on prosectors who open the heart with scissors, rather than the bread knife, because, while the latter takes more skill and care, it is much faster and gives more attractive cut edges than when scissors are used. The coronary arteries are examined by making numerous crosscuts with a scalpel.

The larynx and trachea are opened longitudinally from the rear and the interior examined. The thyroid gland is dissected away from the trachea with scissors, weighed, and examined in thin slices. Sometimes the parathyroid glands are easy to find, other times impossible.

The bloc containing the abdominal organs is turned over so that the back side is up. The adrenal glands are located in the fatty tissue over the kidneys (they are sometimes difficult to find) and are removed, weighed, sliced, and examined by the prosector.

The liver is removed with scissors from the rest of the abdominal organs, weighed, sliced with a bread knife, and examined. The spleen is similarly treated.

The intestines are stripped from the mesentery using scissors (the wimpy method) or bread knife (macho method). The intestines are then opened over a sink under running water, so that all the feces and undigested food flow out. As one might imagine, this step is extremely malodorous. The resultant material in the sink smells like a pleasant combination of feces and vomitus. The internal (mucosal) surface of the bowel is washed off with water and examined. It is generally the diener's job to "run the gut," but usually a crusty, senior diener can intimidate a young first- year resident prosector into doing this ever-hated chore. Basically, whichever individual has the least effective steely glare of disdain is stuck with running the gut.

The stomach is then opened along its greater curvature. If the prosector is lucky, the patient will have not eaten solid food in a while. If not, the appearance of the contents of the stomach will assure the prosector that he will not be eating any stews or soups for a long time. In either case, the smell of gastric acid is unforgettable.

The pancreas is removed from the duodenum, weighed, sliced and examined. The duodenum is opened longitudinally, washed out, and examined internally. The esophagus is similarly treated.

The kidneys are removed, weighed, cut lengthwise in half, and examined. The urinary bladder is opened and examined internally. In the female patient, the ovaries are removed, cut in half, and examined. The uterus is opened along either side (bivalved) and examined. In the male, the testes are typically not removed if they are not enlarged. If it is necessary to remove them, they can be pulled up into the abdomen by traction on the spermatic cord, cut off, cut in half, and examined.

The aorta and its major abdominal/pelvic branches (the renal, celiac, mesenteric, and iliac arteries) are opened longitudinally and examined.

Most of the organs mentioned above are sampled for microscopic examination. Sections of the organs are cut with a bread knife or scalpel and placed in labeled plastic cassettes. Each section is the size of a postage stamp or smaller and optimally about three millimeters in thickness. The cassettes are placed in a small jar of formalin for fixation. They are then "processed" in a machine that overnight removes all the water from the specimens and replaces it with paraffin wax. Permanent microscopic sections (five microns, or one two-hundredth of a millimeter thick) can be cut from these paraffin sections, mounted on glass slides, stained, coverslipped, and examined microscopically. The permanent slides are usually kept indefinitely, but must be kept for twenty years minimum.

Additional small slices of the major organs are kept in a "save jar," typically a one-quart or one-pint jar filled with formalin. Labs keep the save jar for a variable length of time, but at least until the case is "signed out" (i.e., the final written report is prepared). Some labs keep the save jar for years. All tissues that are disposed of are done so by incineration.

A note on dissection technique: All of the above procedures are done with only four simple instruments -- a scalpel, the bread knife, scissors, and forceps (which most medical people call "pick-ups." Only scriptwriters say "forceps"). The more handy the prosector, the more he relies on the bread knife, sometimes making amazingly delicate cuts with this long, unwieldy-looking blade. The best prosectors are able to make every cut with one long slicing action. To saw back and forth with the blade leaves irregularities on the cut surface which are often distracting on specimen photographs. So the idea is to use an extremely sharp, long blade that can get through a 2000-gram liver in one graceful slice. Some old-time purist pathologists actually maintain their own bread knives themselves and let no one else use them. Such an individual typically carries it around in his briefcase in a leather sheath. This would make an excellent fiction device, which, to my knowledge, has not been used. Imagine a milquetoast pathologist defending himself from a late-night attacker in the lab, with one desperate but skillful slash of the bread knife almost cutting the assailant in half!

Note on the appearance of the autopsy suite: Toward the end of the autopsy procedure, the room is not a pretty sight. Prosectors vary markedly in how neat they keep the dissection area while doing the procedure. It is legendary that old-time pathologists were so neat that they'd perform the entire procedure in a tux (no apron) right before an evening at the opera (pathologists are noted for their love of classical music and fine art). Modern prosectors are not this neat. Usually, the autopsy table around the patient is covered with blood, and it is very difficult not to get some blood on the floor. We try to keep blood on the floor to a minimum, because this is a slippery substance that can lead to falls. The hanging meat scales used to weigh the organs are usually covered with or dripping with blood. The chalk that is used to write organ weights on the chalkboard is also smeared with blood, as may be the chalkboard itself. This is an especially unappetizing juxtaposition.

Another example using the Virchow method:

After the intestines are mobilized, they may be opened using special scissors.

Inspecting the brain often reveals surprises. A good pathologist takes some time to do this.

The pathologist examines the heart, and generally the first step following its removal is sectioning the coronary arteries that supply the heart with blood. There is often disease here, even in people who believed their hearts were normal.

After any organ is removed, the pathologist will save a section in preservative solution. Of course, if something looks abnormal, the pathologist will probably save more. The rest of the organ goes into a biohazard bag, which is supported by a large plastic container.

The pathologist weighs the major solid organs (heart, lungs, brain, kidneys, liver, spleen, sometimes others) on a grocer's scale.

The smaller organs (thyroid, adrenals) get weighed on a chemist's triple-beam balance.

The next step in the abdominal dissection will be exploring the bile ducts and then freeing up the liver. The pathologist uses a scalpel or other similar tool.

After weighing the heart, the pathologist completes the dissection. There are a variety of ways of doing this, and the choice will depend on the case. If the pathologist suspects a heart attack, a long knife may be the best choice.

In the example: The liver is removed. The pathologist finds something important. It appears that the man had a fatty liver. It is too light, too orange, and a bit too big. Perhaps this man had been drinking heavily for a while.

The pathologist decides to remove the neck organs, large airways, and lungs in one piece. This requires careful dissection. The pathologist always examines the neck very carefully.

The liver in this example weighs much more than the normal 1400 gm.

The lungs are almost never normal at autopsy. In the example, the lungs are pink, because the dead man was a non-smoker. The pathologist will inspect and feel them for areas of pneumonia and other abnormalities.

The liver is cut at intervals of about a centimeter, using a long knife. This enables the pathologist to examine its inner structure.

The pathologist weighs both lungs together, then each one separately. Afterwards, the lungs may get inflated with fixative.

The rest of the team continues with the removal of the other organs. They may decide to take the urinary system as one piece, and the digestive system down to the small intestine as another single piece. This will require careful dissection.

One pathologist holds the esophagus, stomach, pancreas, duodenum, and spleen. He opens these, and may save a portion of the gastric contents to check for poison.

Another pathologist holds the kidneys, ureters, and bladder. Sometimes these organs will be left attached to the abdominal aorta. The pathologist opens all these organs and examine them carefully.

Dissecting the lungs can be done in any of several ways. All methods reveal the surfaces of the large airways, and the great arteries of the lungs.

Most pathologists use the long knife again while studying the lungs. The air spaces of the lungs will be evaluated based on their texture and appearance.

Before the autopsy is over, the brain is usually suspended in fixative for a week so that the later dissection will be clean, neat, and accurate.

If no disease of the brain is suspected, the pathologist may cut the brain fresh.

The kidneys are weighed before they are dissected.

It is the pathologist's decision as to whether to open the small intestine and/or colon. If they appear normal on the outside, there is seldom significant pathology on the inside.

One pathologist prepares the big needle and thread used to sew up the body.

When the internal organs have been examined, the pathologist may return all but the tiny portions that have been saved to the body cavity. Or the organs may be cremated without being returned.

The appropriate laws, and the wishes of the family, are obeyed.

The breastbone and ribs are usually replaced in the body.

The skull and trunk incisions are sewed shut ("baseball stitch").

The body is washed and is then ready to go to the funeral director.

These notes do not show all the steps of an autopsy, but will give you the general idea. 

During the autopsy, there may be photographers, evidence technicians, police, hospital personnel, and others.

In the example, the pathologists submit the tissue they saved to the histology lab, to be made into microscopic slides.

When these are ready, they will examine the sections, look at the results of any lab work, and draw their final conclusions.

The only finding in this sample autopsy was fatty liver. There are several ways in which heavy drinking, without any other disease, can kill a person. The pathologists will rule each of these in or out, and will probably be able to give a single answer to the police or family.

CLOSING UP AND RELEASING THE BODY

After all the above procedures are performed, the body is now an empty shell, with no larynx, chest organs, abdominal organs, pelvic organs, or brain. The front of the rib cage is also missing. The scalp is pulled down over the face, and the whole top of the head is gone. Obviously, this is not optimal for lying in state in public view. The diener remedies this problem. First, the calvarium is placed back on the skull (the brain is not replaced), the scalp pulled back over the calvarium, and the wound sewn up with thick twine using the type of stitch used to cover baseballs. The wound is now a line that goes from behind the ears over the back of the skull, so that when the head rests on a pillow in the casket, the wound is not visible.

The empty trunk looks like the hull of a ship under construction, the prominent ribs resembling the corresponding structural members of the ship. In many institutions, the sliced organs are just poured back into the open body cavity. In other places, the organs are not replaced but just incinerated at the facility. In either case, the chest plate is placed back in the chest, and the body wall is sewn back up with baseball stitches, so that the final wound again resembles a "Y."

The diener rinses the body off with a hose and sponge, covers it with a sheet, and calls the funeral home for pick- up. As one might imagine, if the organs had not been put back in the body, the whole trunk appears collapsed, especially the chest (since the chest plate was not firmly reattached to the ribs). The mortician must then remedy this by placing filler in the body cavity to re-expand the body to roughly normal contours.

Ultimately, what is buried/cremated is either 1) the body without a brain and without any chest, abdominal, or pelvic organs, or 2) the body without a brain but with a hodgepodge of other organ parts in the body cavity.

FINISHING UP

After the funeral home has been called, the diener cleans up the autopsy suite with a mop and bucket, and the prosector finishes up the notes and/or dictation concerning the findings of the "gross exam" (the part of the examination done with the naked eye and not the microscope; this use of the term "gross" is not a value judgement but a direct German translation of "big" as opposed to "microscopic").

For some odd reason, many prosectors report increased appetite after an autopsy, so the first thing they want to do afterwards is grab a bite to eat.

The whole procedure in experienced hands, assuming a fairly straightforward case and no interruptions, has taken about two hours.

Complicated cases requiring detailed explorations and special dissections (e.g., exploring the bile ducts, removing the eyes or spinal cord) may take up to four hours.

AFTER THE AUTOPSY

Days to weeks later, the processed microscopic slides are examined by the attending pathologist, who renders the final diagnoses and dictates the report.

A final report is ready in a month or so. The glass slides and a few bits of tissue are kept forever, so that other pathologists can review the work.

Only the pathologist can formally issue the report, even if he or she was not the prosector (i.e., the prosector was a resident, PA, or med student).

The report is of variable length but almost always runs at least three pages. It may be illustrated with diagrams that the prosector draws from scratch or fills in on standard forms with anatomical drawings.

The Joint Commission for the Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations (JCAHO), which certifies hospitals, requires the final report to be issued within sixty days of the actual autopsy.

The College of American Pathologists, which certifies medical laboratories, requires that this be done in thirty days.

Nevertheless, pathologists are notorious for tardiness in getting the final report out, sometimes resulting in delays of years.

Perhaps the non-compensated nature of autopsy practice has something to do with this. Pathologists are otherwise very sensitive to turnaround times.

THE BRAIN-CUTTING

The examiner returns to the brain left suspended in a big jar of formalin for a few weeks. After the brain is "fixed," it has the consistency and firmness of a ripe avocado.

Before fixation, the consistency is not unlike that of three-day- old refrigerated, uncovered Jello.

Infant brains can be much softer than that before fixation, even as soft as a flan dessert warmed to room temperature, or worse, custard pie filling. Such a brain may be difficult or impossible to hold together and can fall apart as one attempts to remove it from the cranium.

Assuming good fixation of an adult brain, it is removed from the formalin and rinsed in a running tap water bath for several hours to try to cut down on the discomforting, eye-irritating, possibly carcinogenic formalin vapors.

The cerebrum is severed from the rest of the brain (brainstem and cerebellum) by the prosector with a scalpel.

The cerebellum is severed from the brainstem, and each is sliced and laid out on a tray for examination.

The cerebrum is sliced perpendicularly to its long axis and laid out to be examined.

Sections for microscopic processing are taken, as from the other organs, and a few slices are held in "save jars."

The remainder of the brain slices is incinerated.

Sources: 1 2 3 4

If these notes help with your poem/story, do tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

[yourbasicqueerie]

Letters Of My Dreams (f. seward x fosca)

Summary:

Florence, who is now working at a London clinic, comes across an Italian medical journal featuring a clinical study called "The Case of the Hysterical Woman of Piacenza." Outraged by its language and conclusions, she sends a sharp telegram to the author, Dr. Tamborini. Instead of Tamborini, the letter is answered by the patient herself: Fosca. And what can Fosca do if not reply?

Notes:

I wrote this to feed my absurd love for letter writing, it was also absurdly inspired by @anthewitch ‘s gorgeous gorgeus self whom ledes me her beautiful art as a header. I need to dedicate this to @pattisl0ver , because of the half assed emails i wrote to her during exam season (highlights of my day honestly) and having inspired this idea. darkliterotica on ao3 for having created this ship (genius material) and last but not least least emma, for being the best beta reader I could have had for this! I did make a playlist for this fic and you can find it here! ════════════════════════════════════════════════

There were few things left in the world that stirred Florence Seward to rage.

Not the decaying state of the clinic’s plumbing. Not the gas-lamp that flickered each evening like a dying firefly over her desk. Not even the bone-deep exhaustion that clung to her like coal dust, days stitched together with morphine doses and fractured dreams. No, what ignited her now was something colder than anger: contempt.

She read the article a second time.

"The Case of the Hysterical Woman of Piacenza"Published in Il Giornale Medico di Parma , March 1906. By Dr. Emilio Tamborini.

It was printed on heavy paper that smelled of ink and foreign mildew, its edges already curling as if recoiling from its own contents. Florence had received the journal through the hospital’s archive clerk, a favor reluctantly offered after she’d endured three weeks of paper-thin reports from English institutions that seemed more interested in diagnosing hysteria than understanding it.

But this—this was something else entirely. Tamborini’s study was a horrid dissection dressed in the language of detachment: “Subject exhibits classical signs of derangement. Morbid fixation. Cataleptic episodes. Morally compromised.” There was no description of the woman’s voice, her pain, her history. No curiosity, only cataloguing. Like a butterfly pinned through the thorax.

Florence closed the journal, her hands trembled with something close to fury, or perhaps its elder sibling, sorrow.

She stood abruptly, the legs of her mahogany desk chair scraping against the ground in protest. Outside the infirmary window, the gray London afternoon thickened like cream in tea. She wrapped the coal colored fleece tighter around her shoulders, strode to the communications room, and found the telegraph clerk asleep beside his typewriter.

“Wake up, Mr. Lowell,” she said briskly, dropping the journal onto the metal counter. “We’re sending something to Italy.”

He groaned and sat up with a creak. “To Italy, Dr. Seward? Bit far for a prescription, isn’t it?”

Florence ignored him, pulled a blank telegraph form from the stack, and dipped her pen in ink.

May 4th, 1906From: Dr. Florence Seward, Queen Charlotte Hospital, London, EnglandTo: Dr. E. Tamborini, Clinica Medica di Piacenza

Telegram Message:RE: YOUR ARTICLE “HYSTERIA IN THE FEMALE FORM”CONCERNED BY LANGUAGE AND CONCLUSIONS REGARDING FEMALE NERVOUS DISEASE

QUESTIONING YOUR USE OF “DERANGEMENT” AND “MORAL FEEBLENESS” REQUEST CLINICAL CLARIFICATION AND PATIENT STATUS – DR. F. SEWARD

Florence didn’t expect a reply. She wasn’t even certain why she’d sent it. But she felt lighter after the words had been hammered into the wire, fed like a warning through the veins of Europe.

The next day, she  had already forgotten about it.

And then, a week later, a letter arrived.

It came wrapped in pale vellum. The handwriting on the envelope (looped, elegant, undeniably feminine) immediately caught her attention. It was not from Tamborini. The name was unfamiliar.

"Signorina Fosca."

The envelope smelled faintly of lavender and sorrow.

Florence stared at it for a long moment in her office, her fingers tingling as if she were about to open a locket left by someone long dead.

She slit the top carefully, like she was handling evidence. Inside there was cream-colored paper, the same elegant hand.

May 11th, 1906Clinica Medica, Piacenza

To Doctor Florence Seward,

Your message arrived not to Dr. Tamborini’s office, but to my room. It was a clerical error, or perhaps the nurse took pity on me, and thought I should see it.

I could not help but laugh, quietly, lest they hear me, for who else but a woman would speak so boldly to the gods of medicine? I know them well. Their coats of starch, their words like scalpels.

I am the woman in that paper.

Not the one you read. Not the specimen. The one who remained afterward.

I read your message many times. It did not feel like science. It felt like rescue.

Allow me to reply fully.

In this clinic, I am sometimes permitted paper and sometimes not. Today, I am permitted.

I was not “hysterical.” I was abandoned.

Yours,

Fosca

Florence read the letter once. Then again. She didn’t sit down: she paced the room with it clutched in her hand, like it might vanish.

The tone was measured, almost cold. But something inside it—beneath it—throbbed with recognition. This wasn’t just a patient’s reply. It was a voice breaking through confinement. A flare through fog.

She glanced back down at the bottom of the page. "Fosca." A name that felt more like a key than a signature.

The air in the office suddenly felt too thin. Florence reached for the armrest of her chair and sat down slowly, as though she'd just stepped off a ship after months at sea.

The woman in the case study had become real. And she had written back.

Florence folded the letter carefully, slipping it into her desk drawer—then paused. No. She took it out again, and instead pressed it inside the small, leather-bound poetry journal she kept hidden in her satchel. Next to the folded paper, she slid in a sheet of unused stationary.

And in her mind, already, her pen was moving.

READ MORE ON AO3