#gonna go to medic and he's gonna be like how did you BOTH manage to lose your hearing and theyre gonna be like what | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pathologicalreid · 6 days

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Spencer x fem!reader fic based on “Work Song” by Hozier?? Whatever storyline or category you want!!

work song | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, near death experience, blood, gunshot wound, hospitals. word count: 1.77k a/n: hozier song request makes my brain go brr. i hope the people of tumblr enjoy this bc i most definitely enjoyed writing it.

boys, when my baby found me

Your hair whipped your face as you spun around through the labyrinth of a warehouse that your team had found themselves in. It seemed like an impossible task, trying to navigate this space, but you had already cleared over half of the space.

A small noise, like a shoe squeaking, caught your attention, causing your ears to rise like an animal hunting for prey. Turning a corner, you had your flashlight and firearm raised, coming face to face with Morgan. The both of you relaxed ever so slightly, no longer ready to pounce.

Ricocheting throughout the warehouse, you heard a deafening gunshot. The sound bounced off of the metal walls of the building, making it almost impossible for you to determine where the sound originated from. Meeting Morgan’s eyes, he nodded his head to the left, signaling for you to go that way while he went right.

You affirmed his tactics, turning slowly and making your way to the left. The rusted building was now so eerily quiet that goosebumps were sprouting across your body, even under your bureau jacket.

Continuing your way down the narrow passageway, you saw movement inside of a room. Sliding your back along the wall, you peeked into the room, seeing two bodies on the ground. You whispered almost imperceptibly into your radio, calling for medical. One of them was the local officer that the BAU had been working the case with.

The other one was Spencer.

You pivoted so that you were entirely in the doorway, facing the UnSub, he raised his gun at you, but you were already pulling the trigger, hitting him square in the forehead. Breathing heavily, you lowered your firearm before scrambling over to Spencer.

I didn’t care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her

In your ear, you could hear Morgan shouting, ��Y/N, Reid, sound off, dammit!”

Something needed to happen. You needed to do something, but you had such severe tunnel vision that the only thing you could think about was Spencer.

He was gasping for air on the metal ground of the warehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. You observed in horror as the red puddle spread with each passing moment.

Launching into action, you tugged your jacket off, stuffing the fabric onto Spencer’s side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even Kevlar vests had an Achilles heel, and the UnSub had managed to strike him precisely where there was a gap in the material. All the while, you were muttering the words, “Stay awake.” Just those two words, over and over again, like a prayer.

You hummed, using one hand to apply pressure to his wound and lifting the other so that you could smooth his hair back. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and you knew that, even with your attempts, he was losing too much blood. “Y/N,” he muttered, sounding like he was using all of his strength to say your name.

Gently, you hushed him, “It’s okay, Spence. Don’t talk, you’re gonna be just fine,” you insisted as his blood soaked through the knees of your jeans. You weren’t sure who you were trying to console at that moment.

“It makes sense-“ he said, being cut off by a cough, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. If his lung was collapsing, there was nothing you’d be able to do. You tried to shush him again, but he had more to say – he almost always did. “That I’d see you while I’m dying.”

Choking on tears, you leaned your face onto your shoulder so that you could wipe them away without moving your hands. “I’m here, I’m really here,” you urged, he wasn’t hallucinating, and he wasn’t dying. Not on your watch. “It’s me, Spence. I’m right here,” you told him carefully.

He opened his mouth again to speak, and you wanted to tell him to save his strength. You also didn’t want to deprive him of his words. “You…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words, “You’ve always been my favorite dream.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’m not a dream, I’m right here.” You told him, watching carefully as his eyelids grew seemingly heavier, “baby, open your eyes.”

in the low lamplight I was free

His skin was pallid. Even in the dim, orange light of the warehouse, you could see a sickly sheen forming on his skin. His body temperature was dropping, and it was all you could do to not cover his body with yours as you tried to keep him warm. “Spencer, please,” you rasped, urging him to open his eyes.

Your only solace was that his chest was still rising and falling. His breathing was rickety, but he was still breathing, and that had to count for something. “Spencer,” you cried, watching as blood sept through your jacket, flooding between your fingers as you tried to keep him in one piece.

“Love, open your eyes,” you begged, your eyes flooding with tears until everything was just a blur of red.

His heart was beating, you could feel it beneath your hands. A weak, unsteady beat under your trembling hands. “Baby, please, oh my god,” you pleaded, verging toward incoherent babbling.

You were second-guessing if he was still breathing. If his heart was still beating. With that realization, you screamed.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

At first, you were just screaming, letting the vibrations of your vocal cords portray your emotions, and then you screamed for your team. You had never felt more alone, kneeling in a puddle of Spencer’s blood, and no one was coming to help you.

This couldn’t be how it ended. You refused to acknowledge it, even as you felt the life leave his body.

Leaning your head to the side, you spoke into your radio, “I need medical. I’m in the upper west wing of the building. The suspect is dead, I have an officer and an agent down.” Tears continued to stream down your face.

You heard footsteps behind you as people piled into the room, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Spencer. Not when there was a chance that it would be the last time you looked at him while you were both still breathing. “Agent,” someone said, but it didn’t register. They kept repeating themselves until two strong arms wrapped around you, dragging you away from Spencer.

Now sat on the floor, you clocked the paramedics that were now frantically working on Spencer, packing his wound, and cutting off the Kevlar vest.

Breathing heavily, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Rossi approached the local officer, checking his pulse. Emily was hovered over the UnSub, collecting his weapon from his corpse.

You were still being firmly held back, trying to pry the tattooed arms of Derek Morgan off of your torso. “Stop, let me get to him. I need to get to him,” you struggled against his grip, but any attempts at freedom were futile. The medics were saying awful things about a weak and thready pulse and pneumothorax.

Clinging to any semblance of hope that you could find, you listened to them talk about Spencer’s pulse, knowing that a pulse meant he was alive.

Your breathing quickened as you looked up at Morgan, Hotch was hovering behind the two of you, “I should’ve called for medical sooner.” Your voice was miserable, you had sat there with your jacket to his side for far too long. He could’ve gotten help from professionals.

“You radioed almost five minutes ago for medical,” Morgan informed you. “The EMTs just couldn’t find you in this damn maze.”

While you had no recollection of calling for help when you first found Spencer, you also knew that Morgan would get no pleasure out of lying to you.

You heard one of the paramedics say there was no pulse, and you didn’t remember anything that followed.

no grave can hold my body down

Crumpled in a ball, you picked at the crusted blood in your fingernails as you focused on the steady beeping of Spencer’s heart monitor.

According to Emily, who had been there when you woke up in the hospital, you had passed out around the time that the medics lost Spencer’s pulse. The doctor said it was just a result of stress. Thanks to some IV fluids and hydroxyzine, you were able to be discharged.

Spencer had been out of surgery for several hours now. The doctors had been careful to use the term “if he wakes up”, while you had made sure to say “when he wakes up.” You were playing the most horrendous waiting game, and there’s nothing worse than playing a game you have no interest in.

You were now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an old Academy t-shirt. Being the only team member permitted to see Spencer while he was still sleeping – girlfriend privileges, as Morgan phrased it – you waited with only the noises of his monitor to keep you company in the ICU.

Nurses came in and out, trying to manage his pain without the use of narcotics, making sure his blood transfusions were helping, and every once in a while, they’d check on you.

At this point, you had been nursing the same cup of ice water for hours, remembering the last thing Spencer had said to you: You’ve always been my favorite dream.

There was something so peculiar about being with someone who read so much, especially when he said such eloquent things while bleeding to death. You sighed, slumping back in the chair, you looked back at Spencer, only to be surprised that he was looking right back at you.

You jumped slightly in the chair, leaning over so that you could look at him, “Hey,” you whispered, maintaining the reverent tones of the Intensive Care Unit. “How do you feel?”

He’d lie to you and tell you he was fine, but you could tell by the way his heart rate increased that it was a lie. His eyebrows furrowed as he clocked the white patient ID bracelet on your wrist and your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Despite yourself, you smiled softly, “I thought you were dead.” Your voices were each raspy, yours from screaming and his from being intubated.

Slowly, he unfolded his arm so that his hand was extended to you. Without a second thought, you placed your hand in his. He hummed softly, “And leave you? Never.”

I’ll crawl home to her

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #margot's requests #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid whump #criminal minds whump

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diaryofanidiot · 9 months

Text

The Experiments

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Chapter list: Prologue, 1, <2> ,3 ,4 ,5

Cw: Swearing; torture; blood; medical experiments; panic attacks; malnourishment

Summary: For over a year, Y/N was held in a soviet experimentation facility. Forced to fight and claw her way to live, she managed to stay alive. When the 141 rescues her, they get way more intel than bargained for.

Chapter Two

The blades of the evac chopper beat against my ears painfully as I was escorted into it. A headset was placed over my ears to muffle the sound as I looked up to see Soap faintly smiling down at me.

It wasn't connected to the other's comm sets so once they spoke during take off, I couldn't hear a thing. All I could do was wonder if I really trusted these people. I glanced to Ghost as I did, a faint sense of faith settling in my gut. Him rescuing me from that hellhole was enough for that primal connection to click in my brain.

Yes. If I could trust him, I could trust them. They all seemed close anyway. Hard won battles sealing their connection to each other.

The next few hours were agonizing as the chopper landed, and I was brought on to the compound. From ID photos to a full body scan for any tracking devices on my person; it seemed they weren't taking any risks with me.

Gaz and Soap would often give me a sympathetic glance as I was pushed around to each check-in task in a wheel chair as I was still too weak to walk fully.

"We're gonna have you looked at in the med bay, then we will need you to recount some info for us. That alright with you?" Asked Gaz. I nodded, appreciative that he made it seem like I even had a choice.

I sighed heavily, ready for it all to be over. The adrenaline had worn off just enough to make me realize how sleep deprived I really was.

Machines beeped, and faint chatter could be heard throughout the medical building of the compound. I underestimated how stressful the environment would be. My fingernails dug into the arms of the wheelchair as Gaz steered it.

Soap was beside me, Price and Ghost having left to recount the mission and write a report of some sorts, he seemed to notice my fear.

"None's gonna hurt ya, Lass." He assured me as I was wheeled over to a hospital cot. Him and Gaz lifted me onto it as I looked around wide eyed.

"No.." I coughed out, my voice raspy and once again dry. "No.. Doctors..." I strained, trying to move. They both held me in place, Gaz giving me a stern look.

"They're just going to look over your injuries. We will be right here the entire time." He tried to assure me.

I shook my head rapidly. Ghost... I wanted Ghost here. I didn't have time to wonder why my thoughts went to him, I just needed to get free. I struggled against their hold as a woman in a clean white coat pulled back the curtain around my cot.

My breathing grew heavy and the room seemed to spin. My nails dug small crescents into my palms as I tried frantically to break free. I heard voices and felt a hand on my back but the sounds felt like they were underwater.

I saw a white lab coat flash in front of my vision and I bared my fangs, my lips trembling fearfully.

Danger?

Gotta run...

Can't run.

Fight?

No... yes. Fuck

Fuckfuckfuck

I felt a sharp prick in my neck and turned my head rapidly, biting towards the hand near my face. I heard someone hiss in pain as my teeth broke flesh.

My hair was grabbed, along with my jaw, until I released my hold. My vision blurred and muscles twitched as I struggled.

It all went dark after that.

My dreams melted with reality as I woke and tried to shift in bed. A frown appeared on my lips as I realized I couldn't move my limbs. Fuck.

My eyes flew open as I tried to sit up, the restraints clanging against the metal bars of the cot.

"Easy." My attention flew toward the source of the voice to see none other than Ghost sitting beside me.

I gave him a quizzical "what the fuck" look and his eyes focused on mine sternly through the mask.

"You had a panic attack. Flew off the handle. Hence, the restraints." He sat back in the chair, never once taking his eyes away from me. "Those fangs of yours can really do some damage. Gaz won't be able to throw a good punch with that hand for bout a week."

I swallowed thickly, realizing what I did as he spoke. A faint leftover metallic taste of blood lingered in my mouth. I looked down with guilt.

"Nobody blames you." He huffed. "Hell, not even Gaz. Traumas a bitch."

He paused before continuing. "They had to sedate and restrain you for your safety. Once you're cleared, they can be removed."

I thew my head back with a sigh. I couldn't lie. It genuinely sucked to be moved from one set of restraints to another.

"Look at me."

I turned my head.

"I'm gonna bring the doctor back in here. She's friendlier than I am, promise. Think you can manage?"

I bit my lip in contemplation, my fangs drawing a small dab of blood from my lip as I did.

"Don't worry. I'm staying here."

I took a deep breath and nodded before Ghost peered out the curtain. "She's ready." I heard him say.

There was some shuffling before the doctor walked in. Her eyes showed no fear as if she were used to similar reactions like mine.

"My name is Harriet." She began, holding a clipboard to her chest. "I'm the doctor that's been assigned to you. We did a small checkup while you were sedated, I hope that's okay."

I nodded slowly, trying to keep my breaths steady.

"The Lieutenant informed me on where you came from, so I understand your anxiety around me. You've been put on an IV for the time being to replenish your nutrients until we can be sure you can handle an actual meal."

It was then I noticed the needle in my arm. I frowned at it, but the sight didn't bother me as much as this place. Ghost seemed to be keeping an eye on me, likely to ensure any more freak outs didn't ensue.

"I need to take a look at your throat real quick, do you mind?" She approached me calmly. I flinched but eventually agreed, opening my mouth in response. I watched as she shined a light down my throat, a compressor holding down my tongue.

She scribbled something on her clipboard. "I've been informed on your... alterations. Do you have any other abilities we need to be aware of?"

I thought for a moment and nodded my head slowly, holding up a single finger. She pursed her lips and grabbed a pen and paper.

"You can write, I assume?" She made a motion toward Ghist who unlocked my right arm, leaving the rest of the restraints on.

"Easy, girl. Behave." He said. It seemed like a slight hint of a joke. I took the pen and wrote sloppily on the paper.

Echolocation.

Her eyes widened slightly as she read. "I'm assuming this relates to your altered vocal chords?"

I nodded, averting my gaze to the white flooring.

"Well." She clicked her tongue, putting the clipboard back to her chest. "The good news is that with time, your ability to speak should clear up. It's mostly from dehydration and lack of use; the former being taken care of via IV. You have several infected cuts and a slight fever, along with those infected raw spots on your neck, but those will heal up just fine as well."

I took a breath of relief.

"With enough physical therapy, you should be able to walk just fine. Now the bad news.... we can't reverse the changes made to your vocal chords. If you like, the fangs can be dulled by a dentist, but that one is entirely your choice as neither alterations threaten your livelihood."

As I frowned in thought, Ghost stopped me. "You can decide that later."

I looked back to the doctor who gave me a small sympathetic smile. "One last thing, then I'll let you get some more rest. Do you remember your name? It isn't on the file that was brought with you."

I watched as I was given the pen once more. I closed my eyes and dug through my memory, searching for any remnants of who I was over a year prior.

A woman's voice echoed through my head. No, not a woman. A mother. My mother. She called out to me in agony.

My breath quickened as the memory played like hazy snapshots. Her hand grasping at my shirt. Being dragged away. Her hold on me failing. A gun to her head.

Everything was blurry. Everything was muffled.

Except...

I took the pen and wrote a name on the paper. The same name that echoed through my mind over and over.

A scalding tear fell down my cheek as the doctor nodded.

"It's nice to meet you, (y/n)."

A/n: sorry bout the tendons in your hand, Gaz. 🫡 had to be done.

I'm sorry this one is so short but I was fairly busy today. I'll make it up with the next one, promise ^-^

Taglist: @warenai @linoskitten11 @jamesrifftapes @justmare @hk-4ever @thriving-n-jiving @katelouis98 @tayaisback @josieguts @btszn @lemmyyy0606 @msecho19 @cory-viv @cybercl0ne @randomhumans-blog @vinithechocolatevampire @embermdk @itsryuken @neothewitch @undercover-smutlover

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish

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reiding-writing · 3 months

Note

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #mgg #asks 🫶

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lunatic-pudge · 6 months

Text

Scout, Pyro, Demo, Medic, Sniper, and Spy Relationship Headcanons

Can you tell which ones are my absolute favorite:')

Scout

• Unsurprisingly, it takes him a long time to get over his infatuation of Ms. Pauling (I'm 110% convinced she's a lesbian), so you must be basically a deity to be catching his attention (though he'd the type to flirt with EVERYONE)

• Golden retriever energy, also youngest child energy. Constantly wants to do everything for you but also needs constant attention. He's also used to be getting picked on by the other mercs and his older brothers so he'll be going to you for validation. But he also doesn't want to appear weak so it'll take some time to break through his (fragile) shell.

• Love language: physical touch and acts of services. Will be constantly trying to act like a macho man for you but will also beg to hold your hand. Cuddles are constant. He may not be good at being a handyman, but my gods he's gonna try his darndest. Plz tell him that he did a good job, he's trying his best.

• He's the best person to go to if you wanna go on randon and unexpected adventures. One minute you're both in Teufort, the next your across country at the beach up east coast. Poor thing gets yelled at a lot for just uping and leaving without notice.

• Local snack dealer. Ma is always making sure that he's got sweets on hand. His room has care packages from her with some of the most wholesome letters from her and the box if FILLED to the brim with sweets, treats, and soda

Pyro

• My little baby boo, a wholesome partner who would kill for you. Can get jealous very easily so you might have to hold them back from committing manslaughter.

• Love language: quality time and gift giving. Time with Pyro is time well spent. Constantly just wants to be in the same room with you. They don't do well when you're not around. Also loves to give gifts. Most of their gifts consit of stuffed animals and handmade drawings. Your room will be filled with gifts from this goofball.

• In my opinion, they're a lot more there than people realize. Some days are better than others though. They were literally CEO of an engeneering company! And I believe they made all their weapons to but I could be wrong on that. Homie is definitely reliable when they're having a good day, but on the bad days, just sit and spend time with them. You don't gotta say anything, just knowing your right there beside them is enough conformation to know you'll always be there no matter what.

• You two are little troublemakers. You'll constantly be up to no good with them. It seems like harmless fun, but you've both almost burnt down the base five times just this month!

Demoman

• Probably one of the best lovers you could have out of all the mercs (aside from Engie, they're competing for the number one spot). I'm deducting points cause of the nonstop alcohol consumpution. :(

• But he is a happy goofy dunk so thank gods for that. Always happy to be here. Very attentive, caring, cuddly, overall a good person to date or even just be friends with.

• Cause the constant alcohol ruined a good portion of his memory (and Medic as well), he writes down every little detail of you that he can in a little journal he secretly keeps on his person. Important dates, likes, dislikes, ect. The man has it on file in case of emergencies.

• Love language: gift giving and act of services. He works three jobs and makes over 5 mil a year, he's LOADED. He's gonna buy you the world if you ask. Definitely good at money managing so he never worried at how much gifts cost. He's also gonna try his darndest to help you out with any problems, though it can be a bit hard when you're constantly drunk. Hims trying his best, okay?

• Wants his mom to approve of you but knows how critical she is of him. Poor baby has some self-esteem issuses cause of her so please give him lots of love and support. It's hard when your mom never has anything nice to say about you and compares you to everyone else. It's a neverending struggle. :(

Medic

• You're definitley into weird and questionable people if you like this man, and that means we're best friends now. :D

• He will ask you to help him out with surgeries and organizing his lab. You're hims little nurse. He'd probably (absolutley) be getting you a nurse outfit with his symbol on it.

• He's very much the possessive type. What's his is HIS, no if, ands, buts, or questions about it. Would put a tracker in you so he knows where you are at all times, but someone would have to talk him out of doing it... for now...

• Constantly talks about you to his birds, if any on them ever have babies, he's naming one after you. Would get you a stuffed dove plushie to cuddle with at night when he can't be there with you

• Love language: physical touch and quality time, you're ALWAYS welcomed in his lab, in fact, he expects you to be there with him. Is the type to ask you to grab something and will graze his hands against yours when grabbing it from you. (then give a shit eating smirk afterwards) He'd also be the type to stand VERY close to you, and stand behind you in an intimidating way to keep others from talking to you.

Sniper

• This man is my all time baby boy so I have LOTS to say about him and how much I love him :')

• Is someone who takes a while to get close to, especially in a romantic way. He's just a shy little boy who's used to being alone. But isn't introverted, just has introverted tendencies (you literally see him hanging out with some of the other mercs in Expiration Date)

• Love language: words of affirmations and physical touch, he sucks at verbally saying how he feels about you but will leave cute little love notes around for you to find. He's also VERY touched-starved so he will just flat out lay on top of you if you let him. Loves hearing you say how much you love him, plz just hold his hands and say how much he means to you, he might just cry from it.

• Is also someone who goes on random adventures, but they're usually just out and away from everyone. But I could see him taking you to a zoo or aquarium to look at the animals. But you're not allowed to go to a Humane Society cause you'll be walking out with all the animals they have and raising them like they're your babies,

Spy

• Another gremlin who takes a long time to warm up to you. He's a grumpy old man who's never really been with someone in such a serious light (aside from Scout's Ma)

• Love language: gift giving and words of affirmation, another merc who would buy you the world if you asked. Will only buy you the best of the best and will throw hands with someone if it's not up to his standards. He could go on about his love for you. His words sound like poetry. You'd wake up with a bouquet of roses and one of the most beautiful love letters anyone has ever read.

• Is 50/50 on PDA, he'll wrap an arm around your waist, call you beautiful, and give you a peck on the cheek in front of others but that's about it. Any extreme PDA is to be in private or you're getting a scolding.

• Would definitely help you learn French. He's way more patient with you than anyone else. You've seen him yell and insult every merc a couple times (Scout getting the brunt of it), but he refuses to ever say anything negative about you

• Definitely the bragging type. He'll put you on a pedestal and go on about how gorgeous you are. How you were crafted by gods, and so on. He thinks he's better than everyone else so if you're with him, than you're right up there with him.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 x reader #tf2 scout #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 pyro #tf2 pyro x reader #tf2 demoman #tf2 demoman x reader #tf2 medic #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 sniper #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 spy #tf2 spy x reader

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darklordofthesimp · 1 year

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Sanative (John Price x Reader)

Summary: As Captain Price attends your medical room more often, he manages to get you to open up to him.

A/N: THIS WAS DIFFICULT

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Fluff

Warnings: Graphic Language || Description of Violence

Captain John Price went from being an unseen legend to appearing everywhere you turned.

Obviously, you'd tended to him and members of his team before. Some of them were from the recent selection but the most memorable ones had carried through from the past. You just hadn't expected to see the leader as often as you did.

"Captain," you greeted, swallowing thickly as you found him leaning against your doorway.

"Doc," he replied casually, the crack in his voice telling you that he was injured. You rushed forward as he groaned through his teeth. "When are you gonna call me 'John'?"

"Well," you huffed, as you flew to prep your table and his seat, "probably when you call me Saint."

The Captain chuckled as he dragged himself further into the room, hand pressed to his stomach and his gaze firmly locked on you. The man had made sure the door stayed open, breaking the habit of closing it behind him. It made you uncomfortable and while it wasn’t entirely providing him with any privacy, he much rathered your medical attention over isolation.

He watched you move with deft fingers, unwrapping, sanitizing and somehow still maintaining a conversation.

"Come lay down, John," you murmured absent-mindedly, maneuvering the chair to lay out flat like a bed.

"There you go," the officer groaned with a tight-lipped smile, genuine but pained. “You do listen.”

“Or maybe I just pity you, Sir,” you offered him a sly smile, the addressing of his authority was a purr on your tongue. It was playful or meant to be, you hadn’t really thought twice about it.

But John? God.

His movements faltered, fingers digging into the bed until his knuckles turned white. He tried to clear his throat but it was more of a strangled choke and his cheeks burned bright with embarrassment. Or shame. His thoughts fell somewhere dirty, somewhere they shouldn’t have been.

Your name may have been Saint, but all you did was make him sin.

When your fingers dragged across his midriff, stroking over his hand to encourage it to move from the wound, John forgot how to breathe. You sucked in a sharp breath between your teeth at the blood drenching his shirt.

“You gonna take off your clothes or do you want me to do all the work?” You asked, leaning back with an amused smile. John swallowed thickly.

“I don’t think I can, love.” A strained grimace followed his chuckle and he clenched his jaw tightly. “Might have to cut it off.”

You hummed suggestively as you reached for the scissors, a small smirk playing on your lips. When the fabric of his shirt sat snuggly beneath the blades, John reached over to touch your hand lightly.

“Take it easy.” The statement was clearly a question, pleading with you to be soft on him.

“Don’t worry,” you laughed. “I’ll be gentle.”

The Captain groaned. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“I’m trying to distract you.”

“It’s working.”

The words were a growl as the disinfectant met his wound. You tried not to let the tables turn and attempted to block out the sound of his groans. He was unashamed in his grunting, red crawling up his neck as he gnashed his teeth.

You knew he was in pain and that you were breaking some ethical code by entertaining these thoughts. At the end of the day, John was many things- but he wasn’t a mind reader.

It was quiet between you both as you worked. Usually, you filled the space with small talk or casual flirtation but you’ve been running on caffeine and a chocolate bar for the past 19 hours and you didn’t have the energy to talk.

Thankfully, John was understanding. He watched you carefully as you worked, you could feel his gaze burning into your skin as you forced your eyes down. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to see the symptoms of your exhaustion. The minimal amount of flirtiness would have been the biggest indicator.

It was jarring for the Captain, he wasn’t exactly working in an environment that had much exposure to coquettish people. You figured that’s why he’d reacted so obviously to all your advances, subtle or brash in nature.

You wondered if he’d been struck with the question of whether you flirted with all your patients. Did he think that it was part of your medical practice? Something that you did with everyone who’d come through? You’d been out of the social scene for so long that you forgot how to interact with someone you were interested in.

Maybe you were just embarrassing yourself by trying.

“Saint.” A voice sounded from the doorway.

Both you and the Captain turned to see one of the nurses poke their head inside. You immediately offered a smile, acknowledging their call.

"You got another 141 boy waitin' outside for you," they said with a roll of their eyes. "Want me to send 'em in when you're done here?"

"Please," you nodded, "shouldn't be too long."

Price groaned as the nurse disappeared back into the hallway. "Fuck's sake."

The sound of the door clicking shut had your reply dying on your tongue. The room fell silent as you zeroed in on the now closed door.

Anger flushed through your body, heat licking up your spine as if someone had lit you on fire. Your fingers tightened on your equipment as you tried to steady your breathing.

The nurses knew better, they knew better than to close your office door. While it was common practice to maintain a private space, they fucking knew that didn't apply to you.

"Saint?" John's soft call barely registered, tugging you back to the situation at hand.

You cleared your throat. The Captain raised a brow.

"Lean back and brace yourself," you rasped, avoiding his gaze.

You wanted to throw your tools at him and clamber to your feet. Your blood buzzed with urgent anxiety, pressing you to open that door. You didn't want to be alone in here- you couldn't be alone in here.

So much could happen. It could happen again. It might happen again. What if it happened again?

You couldn't breathe, the replay of that fateful afternoon displayed across your vision like a fucked up movie.

Not again.

A hand clapped down on yours and you realised that John had been trying to get your attention. Your eyes snapped upward to meet his with a startled gasp, fingers shaking in his grip.

"You good there, love?" The Captain ducked his head to meet your dropping gaze.

"It's Saint," you stammered.

There was an amused huff. "Saint."

"Yeah," your vision blurred. "...Saint."

The man before you took in a sharp breath. Concern shone brightly in his gaze as he appraised you like he'd just dragged you from the battlefield- like you were a casualty. You wondered what he'd deemed your condition to be when his jaw set with resolve.

John raised his hands in front of him, showing you his palms as he stood to his feet. Your heart leapt into your chest at the movement but you forced yourself to remain still. Your eyes tracked him carefully until he reached the doorway.

When the door swung open it was as if your airway did too.

Dry but quick breath rattled in your chest, chasing the black spots from your vision. It was as if someone had taken their hands away from your throat.

"We ever gonna talk about that, sweetheart?" John asked softly, the words dulcet and comforting.

"Saint," you corrected with a whisper.

He shot you a discontented look.

When he finally reached the seat, his mouth twisted into a grimace. His hand shot to his stomach and you jolted, suddenly realizing that you hadn't finished patching up his wound.

John groaned as you pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him back onto the bed forcefully. His mouth twisted but he said nothing, no flirty comment, no subtle innuendo- the atmosphere was too serious for that.

Instead, the Captain opted to watch you as you worked. Ignoring the sting of his butchered skin and taking in your visage kept him occupied and had him laying still.

You could feel his gaze, it was hot and heavy and burned every inch of skin it passed over. Blue eyes turned to blue fire, forcing you to shiver beneath the intensity.

"It was a soldier," you offered suddenly. The words had fallen from your tongue before you could close your teeth around them.

Price went still.

"He'd come back from a bad mission," you took in a shuddering breath. "Real bad, John."

He didn't make a sound, afraid that you would clam up if you thought about his presence.

Your fingers shook as you worked, your eyes on his wound but seeing something else. You might have looked like you were in the room with him but you were galaxies away.

"He'd been through hell and clawed his way out," you rasped. "By the time he got brought to me, he was half deranged."

Hands closing around your neck, throwing you onto your own nursing bed. His body on top of yours. Rage smouldering in his gaze- tears burning in yours.

No one could hear your strangled screams and you watched in despair as the closed door stayed shut. There was no reprieve, there was no rescue- there was only the shell of a man above you.

You begged, he sneered.

You sobbed, and he gripped you tighter.

When you whispered his name, his real name, with your dying breath… that's when he stopped.

That's when he pulled away as if your skin had scorched him. That's when he scooped your crumpled and gasping body against his in a broken embrace, begging for your forgiveness.

Praying for redemption.

His body wracked violently as he wept, fingers digging into your skin. His face was pressed into the crook of your neck and his tears ran down your chest.

"I'm so, so sorry. God. Please help me. Please-" The words were strangled, choked even.

The door flung open hard to reveal the nurses you'd been screaming for earlier. You wondered if you hadn't said his name, would they be walking in to find you dead beneath him?

When the nurses and guards ran in to remove him, you threw a shaky hand over the man's shoulder.

A silent command.

'Stop.'

No one dared to disobey.

Not when your eyes burned with determined tears, not when your hands came to wrap around the soldier protectively.

You cradled the broken person in your arms, his wailing growing louder when he realized what you were doing. Your hand rubbed up and down his shoulder, your fingers stroking the back of his head- letting his body fit tightly between your arms.

He'd lost so much weight, his bones jutting into your skin. You couldn't imagine the horrors he'd been through. When you'd read the report briefly before they admitted the soldier, you couldn't believe your eyes.

None of this surprised you.

You would never blame him for his distrust.

It was your job to help him.

"You're okay," you soothed, trying to erase the shakiness of your words. Your heart still thrashed wildly in your chest, adrenaline pumping from the near-death experience. "I've got you. You're safe with me. I'll make sure you're okay."

The man pressed his face further into your neck, gnashing his teeth against your skin like the tortured soul that he was. He shook his head.

"You've gotta be a fuckin' saint," he rasped, sniffling between words. "No other explanation."

"Not a saint," you let loose a startled laugh. "Just a doctor."

"You're a saint to me, Doc."

A Saint.

Saint.

You blinked back to the present, realizing that John had been holding your hand throughout the entire conversation. Slowly, you let your thumb rest over his. The simple sign of affection had John drawing in a deep breath and leaning back in his seat.

"That's why you don't like the door being closed?"

You nodded.

"And that's why they call you Saint?"

"Yeah."

The Captain nodded slowly. There was nothing further for him to say, no matter how much he searched for the words. He wanted to commend you, you could tell by the way that he leaned forward- but the look on your face told him that you didn't want to hear it.

It was your job, not an achievement.

"You're all patched up now, John." You muttered, suddenly uncomfortable by the vulnerability.

You never thought you'd be sharing that story with anyone, you figured that if your soldier was ready he'd tell everyone about your connection. Maybe you'd overstepped by telling John although it was vague and non-descriptive.

Price stood to his feet, hesitant.

"You don't have to say anything, Captain," you said, sanitizing the nursing bed.

"I want to." He rasped.

You smiled as you stood up straight. "Take me to coffee and I might consider letting you talk."

The man blushed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Wordless noises tumbled from his lips as he scrambled for an answer. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

With that John left the room, rounding the corner to uncover which one of his overgrown kids had injured themselves. Out of everyone, he hadn't expected to find Simon with his head laid back against the wall.

"Jesus," Price raised a brow. "You good?"

Simon grunted his affirmative. "Am I right to go in?"

"Yeah, mate."

John watched as the Lieutenant struggled to his feet, gripping the doorway to your office. He heard your voice trinkle through the hallway, inviting him in. The Captain waited, waited for Simon to inevitably close the door behind him- he would quickly open it and then leave. He didn't want to linger, didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable but he couldn't just let you go through that anxiety again.

Simon was known for valuing his privacy, and his need for concealment and isolation. It would only be natural of him to close the door behind him, unaware of Saint's history.

But, when Ghost walked through the threshold, John took in a sharp breath.

The Lieutenant slipped straight in, slowly and with his eyes cast downcast- though, that wasn't what caught Price's attention.

He didn't close the door.

#john price x reader #john price cod #john price mw2 #john price #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #the dark lord of the simp

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the-witchhunter · 1 month

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I’ve had an interesting thought swimming around my head that I swear I’ve been meaning to write

You know what would be an interesting combination of characters?

Jazz and Harvey Dent/TwoFace

Specifically a Dent just getting back on his feet, released from Arkham and trying to learn how to exist in the world with his condition

I’m thinking a reveal gone wrong, Danny has disappeared to ancients know where, so Jazz cuts ties and Stays with her Uncle Dent, or maybe her bio dad if that’s more your game. Just an soaking wet and miserable Jazz showing up at his crappy apartment saying she’s his daughter or niece and him resisting the urge to flip a coin because he has enough on his plate as is, only to let her in telling her they’ll talk about it in the morning and point her to the shower so she can clean up and dry off

Why do I think this would be an interesting combo?

Jazz’s interest in psychology. A lot of times, as a fandom we depict her as an expert, and in a future timeline where she went to school and has been practicing psychology maybe, but default Jazz? She’s not an expert

Jazz wants to be a brain surgeon, psychology is an interest of hers but her understanding is very limited. She quotes Freud and Jung and has some amount of academic knowledge of the field, but she clearly doesn’t understand that psychoanalyzing friends and family and offering unwanted psychiatric advice is actually rude and something she shouldn’t do. She lacks understanding of actual therapy and is clumsy in applying her knowledge to people she knows

And I find putting her in proximity of someone with DID and probably PTSD would really be an eye opening experience for her

Because Dent might humor her, TwoFace will call her out. They both have hung around Harley to know enough to tell her, “maybe don’t take Freud so seriously” because man does everything go back to sex with Freud, and maybe quoting a guy that says she wants to boink her dad is not as strong of a point as she thinks it is

And the thing is, Harvey would likely still be receiving therapy as an outpatient, potentially taking meds to help deal with his conditions, likely a mood stabilizer or anxiety med to manage PTSD symptoms, so she’s front seat of him learning to live as a regular person in Gotham with his condition. She’s gonna see his good days, his bad days, the side effects of his medication, and it’s going to change her idea of what psychology is. It’s not just quoting things at people, it’s not just saying “this is good for people” but she’d see what it being put into practice would look like

Maybe that’ll push her away from the subject. Maybe it’ll make her more inclined to study, to learn not just about it as an abstract but how to actually apply it to help people. Learning about actual therapy practices. Maybe living first hand with mental illness would be the push to switch from neurosurgery to clinical psychology in her future plans

Also I just think that Dent would be empathetic and do what he could to help her, meanwhile TwoFace would help her cut loose a little, get a little chaotic and have some fun

You can’t tell me there’s not something fun about her and “Uncle Two-y” having a night on the town that only results in a little property damage. Relax Harv, they didn’t do anything too illegal, because they didn’t get caught or nothing

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #writing #writing prompt #jazz fenton #two face #harvey dent #I spend a lot of time thinking about Harvey dent and two face #and how his DID affects his character #because it’s beyond there being a good side and a bad side #two face is a lot of Harvey’s anger and ‘base impulses’#Freud would call him the Id while Harvey is the ego #base impulses and the arbitrator between impulses and the rules society creates #the judge would likely be the superego if this version has him #all rules

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aurasplanet · 7 days

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CARE FOR YOU carl grimes x fem!reader

warnings — both are 18+, reader gets a little hurt, fingering, oral (f!receiving), a bit cheesy

carl hated when you went outside of the walls, especially without him. when it came to himself he was so fearless, but when it came to people he cared about, when it came to you? the worry just wouldn’t leave his body. it couldn’t.

all you wanted to do was go grab a few comics from the pile he stashed out in the woods. “quick and simple,” the sweet smile you sent him with your words had him melting and agreeing. you wouldn’t go far, and he would stay by the walls to help you and keep lookout.

but the longer he stood, the slower time seemed to move, the more he wondered if getting caught going out at night is worth risking your life. maybe he’s thinking too negatively, but he can’t be too careful about you.

he’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears clanks against the walls. “love?” he whisper-calls out. carl’s never been one for pet names, settling for ‘love’ since it was short, sweet, and you’re his love. he still gets a little awkward when he uses it.

he hears your quiet mumble of ‘uh-huh’ and a few moments later you’re on top of the wall. you’re chest is rising and falling frantically trying to breathe. “c’mon…” he trails off, watching you get low enough for him to grab you.

he sets you down on the grass and your body stumbles forward. “what happened?” his hands go to inspect your body, hearing you wince when he touched certain areas. he saw some blood and his teeth clenched, scooping you up bridal style to carry you back to his house.

you laugh, but it’s cut off by a wince in pain. “you don’t have to carry me, i can still walk, you know?”

when carl gets to his front door he puts you down, but still guides you by your side. “it was quicker.” you could tell he was trying to match your playful attitude, but carl doesn’t play about you getting hurt.

he sets you down on his bed, going to his bathroom to fetch the medical supplies usually used for his bandage.

you sigh and place your hand over his frantic ones beside you. “carl, you need that stuff.”

he shakes his head and lifts your shirt, inspecting the injury you were bleeding from. “right now, you do. now answer me, what happened?”

you explain to him about how you were making your way to your spot when a handful of walkers decided to crash in. you fought them off alright, but managed to take a tumble with one, and get cut up by a few tree branches.

he shakes his head, leaning it down to rest on your thighs. you take his hat off to run your hands through his hair, tugging it a little so he looks up at you. “i’m okay,” you reassure him with a smile.

carl sighs and reaches for his supplies, “and you’re gonna stay that way, alright? even if i have to lock you up here.” he smiles, you love when he smiles.

carl looks focused as he places gauze over the wound, wrapping it just like he does with his eye. he looks at you with a sheepish smile, “that’s all i know how to do…” you giggle and brush his hair from his face, pressing a kiss to his cheek as a thank you. he hums and shuts his eye, leaning forward to peck your lips. “did you even get the comics?”

wincing as you reach back, you pull two bent up comics from the back pockets of your oversized jeans. he shakes his head and chuckles airily, taking them out of your hands and tossing them to the side. he leans forward and kisses you again, causing your back to hit the mattress.

you whimper in pain and his hands come to your sides, rubbing soothingly at your skin. “don’t move,” he whispers against your lips, kisses trailing down your neck. “let me take care of you.” he could tell you were shaken up, as best as you tried to hide it. he could feel how tense you are, he wanted to relieve you. he’ll do his best to make you feel better and forget all about everything.

instead of having you lift your sore arms up to take your shirt off, he opts for sliding your shirt up over your breasts. every time he sees you he’s in awe again. he keeps his face close to yours, studying you for any pained expressions. his hand slowly creeps under you to the clasp of your bra, fiddling with it with a short laugh before getting it undone.

his hands come up to cup your tits through your bra, sliding the material down. his eye flicks from your chest to your face and he presses another kiss to your lips before lowering himself to wrap his lips around your nipple.

you let out a hum of pleasure and carl feels your body beginning to relax beneath him. your hands thread through his hair again and he sighs, “your sounds are so pretty, love.” his voice is muffled, the lewdness contrasting his sweet words made your face heat up.

he also wasn’t the kind to dirty talk, or talk much at all during intimate times. he never learned any of that, you both were learning together. and he’d do anything for you.

his mouth separates from your skin, a small trail of spit connecting them. his lips trail wet kisses down your torso, his hands shakily messing with the zipper of your jeans. you laugh and sit up to help him, a pained groan escaping you.

“no.” carl eases your body back down onto the mattress, “i told you, i’ll take care of you.” his face is close to yours again, hand still making work of undoing your jeans.

you giggle at him, “looked like you needed help.”

he hums, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck. his hand reaches down into your panties, teasing you. “my pretty girl still intimates me a little, is that such a crime?” you whimper at his words, at how close he is to where you need him most.

“you said you’d take care of me,” his teeth nip at your skin in response, the stimulation causing your hips to rut upwards. “you’re teasing.” with that two of his fingers press against your clit and rub in circles, eliciting a moan from you.

your hips follow the movements of his hand until you’re stopped by his other one, “what did i say? is it not enough, love?” you don’t answer him, you can’t. “already that gone? i’ve barely touched you…”

he lowers himself back down, face level with your pantie-covered pussy. his fingers hook under the elastic, pulling them down carefully. he smirks as your breathing picks up and your grip on his hair tightens.

he presses a small kiss to your clit, looking into your eyes. his hands made their way to your thighs, holding them in place. his lips wrap around your clit and give a small suck, watching your face the entire time.

“i can’t get enough of how you sound,” the raspiness of his voice has you reeling, bringing you closer and closer to the edge so easily. “how you taste.” he eases two fingers into you, groaning at how wet you were, how easy it was for him to get you this way.

you whimper out his name, tugging his head up by his hair and forcing his lips on yours. his fingers pump in and out of you quicker, kissing you messily. you moan into his mouth and clench around his fingers, head falling back with your eyes screwed shut.

his eye stayed on you, movements slowing down but helping you ride out your orgasm. your hand goes down to his, enclosing on his wrist and stopping his movements with a whimper. you’re breathless and spent again, this time in the safety of your boyfriend’s arms.

#carl grimes x reader #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x you #carl grimes #carl grimes smut #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #twd angst #twd oneshot #twd fluff #twd imagine #twd smut #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes oneshot #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes angst #carl grimes x fem!reader

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sun-snatcher · 2 months

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No no because I love your depiction of Jet??? Oh my god?? Like hell yeah hes a fearless leader of a freedom fighting rebellion group he built from the ground up but he’s also?? JUST A TEEN!! JUST A BOY!! Teenage boys get butterflies too!!??

🌾 ・ POCKETFUL OF BUTTERFLIES

summ. Operation: Creeping Cricket was a botch. It looks like you and Jet aren’t gonna be headed home anytime soon. pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader w.count. 1.1k a/n. ANON YOURE SO RIGHT. Sometimes we forget Jet is really just a teenage boy grappling with hormones and feelings and everything inbetween! Enjoy this short continuation to Hand in Loving Hand!

You take a mental note to thank Longshot and his squirrel-like tendencies to hide emergency stashes up in trees for times like these.

“Here,” Jet says softly, “Y’might catch a cold soon.”

The change of clothes he offers you is weathered, but a warm welcome respite from the frigid chill that’s settled into your bones.

Operation Creeping Cricket had been a complete bust. Your narrow escape is a stroke of luck with all things considered, and at least the rain has finally stopped. It doesn’t help that both you and Jet are soaked head to toe, however, and the fact that the temperatures in the forests by Omashu can drop critically.

Your cheeks are raw; your fingers ache— but you manage to begin peeling off the layers of your clothes one by one to dry by the campfire. From across, Jet’s already managed to change out. He frowns in concern from where he’s sitting by the fire, watching you tip over a boot of water.

“You’re shaking.”

“Shivering,” you correct, trying to stop the chatter of your teeth. You wonder if biting on a wheat straw like how Jet is doing right now would help. “But, yes. Same thing I suppose.”

Then you’re untying the strings of your tunic, and pulling it swiftly over your head.

Jet barely has time to react.

He practically snaps his neck turning away, eyes wide.

The whiplash, the innocent attempt at privacy, has you biting back a laugh.

Ever the gentleman.

“You can look now,” you finally say, after a quick minute, and Jet is careful to turn.

The garments that Longshot had stashed practically drowns your figure, sleeves bundling at the wrists; collar wide and dipping low enough to reveal the corded necklace you never remove. And then there’s the glow of the fire, honeying you in amber light as you run your fingers through your damp hair.

You’re… effortlessly beautiful. He’s not quite sure there’s any other way to describe you.

“That bad, huh?” you ask, pinned under his gaze.

Jet startles. “Sorry, I— No, you just, look cold, still.”

He clears his throat as the tips of his ears burn. He hopes to the Spirits beyond you hadn’t noticed them go red. (You did.)

“Well, so do you.” You reach back into Longshot’s knapsack and tug out a blanket from inside, before making your way across to the log Jet’s settled on. The material is tanned and threadbare, but it would do for the night.

Your hands brush as you wrap the cloth around the both of you.

It’s difficult not to focus on just how warm Jet is. Even more difficult not to lean against him.

It hadn’t mattered much in the end, though; Jet shifts closer, and presses his shoulder against yours.

“Y’okay?” You ask, gentle.

Under the dim firelight, his hard edges seem to soften. The fearless leader of the Freedom Fighters can be surprisingly endearing. Suddenly, Jet is simply another survivor; another casualty of war.

He shrugs lightly, careful not to jostle you, and makes a face. “Eh. We’ve faced worse, haven’t we?”

You laugh, ducking into his shoulder. Jet wonders if you can physically feel the butterflies taking flight in his chest.

There’s a spill of flowers behind you— budding Moonflowers, he recognises; native to Earth Kingdom wildlife— and has half the mind to pluck one and hand it to you.

He chews harder on the straw in his mouth instead.

( He knows you don’t see him that way, anyway. You’d made that clear before. ‘We’re family,’ is what you’d told him; Him and the rest of the Freedom Fighters. ‘Found family.’ And while he isn’t complaining, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t imagine atleast once what it’d be like to be something more with you.

Even if you did, he’s not quite sure he’d act on it. He’s not quite sure he can allow himself to be that vulnerable to someone. Not when he's a wanted man; not when subjecting someone into his dangerous lifestyle is the last thing he wants— even if said someone had signed up for it. )

“I’ll take first watch.” he says, after a moment.

“Y’sure? I don’t mind doing it. I promise I’ll wake you up this time.”

He laughs at the old memory. The smile, however, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine. You need rest.”

Quietly, you read him. Measure the micro-expressions that pass his face. Having fought alongside Jet throughout the years of survival made it easier. Whenever night falls, and the weight of his duties could settle if only for a little while, you could finally see all of him. Just a teenager who’s fighting for what he believed in; a kid who had to take on the world too early.

That illusion of 24/7 confidence falls around you often, though never around the younger rebels. You’ve kept the privilege close to your heart.

“You’re worried.”

He picks on the hearth for a moment, listens to the crackle of the fire.

Jet doesn’t doubt the Freedom Fighters’ capabilities. Longshot’s probably camping out somewhere in the trees with Smellerbee and The Duke, and Pipsqueak and Sneers can navigate these forests even better than him. They’ve all probably made it home already, knowing them.

And yet. And yet—

“Yeah,” he says. He didn’t like admitting it, because it implied they couldn’t protect themselves. It’d have meant he isn’t confident in them; that he, to some degree, didn’t trust them. It’s a twisted mindset, he recognises, but he can’t quite help his way of thinking these days. He didn’t like admitting he cared more than he really should— it’d be a concession. An admission.

An admission that he might truly snap if he lost any of the Freedom Fighters; that he might truly break if, Spirits forbid, he’d lose you.

The thought sends a frisson up his spine.

That shouldn’t scare him. It shouldn’t.

He blinks, shakes his head. “That obvious?”

“No. But I’ve known you for years now,” you nudge. “It’s okay to worry, y’know? You can care. You do care. There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to act like you don’t for the sake of appearing calm and collected and… cool.”

He cocks his head at that, musters a playful smile. “Ah. So you think I’m cool?”

It’s meant to derail the conversation. Fortunately for him, it’s successful. Jet watches you bow your head and laugh; the bright one, the kind that makes his heart sing.

Camaraderie, he reminds himself, swallowing thickly as he reluctantly turns away from you. Nothing more, nothing less.

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munsonfamilyband · 2 months

Text

In Everything But Blood

Alright, I finished the giant paper I had to write (40 pages jesus christ) and then grad school kind of kicked my ass for a while BUT I AM HERE, back from a months long hiatus to finally write the claudia henderson thing I wrote weeks ago. Enjoy, there will be more but this was so long and I only got to like halfway through it but I wanted to post this.

TW!!!! Seriously TW, graphic descriptions of gore and injuries, medical talk, THIS IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE GRAPHIC ON PURPOSE

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve wasn't fully aware of how he was still moving but he wasn't going to question it as he sprints into the hospital behind Nancy and Robin, Eddie draped over his back and getting blood everywhere, Dustin limping as fast as he could behind them. He would probably be panicking more if he couldn't feel the little puffs of air Eddie was breathing out every few seconds against his neck.

The nurses all turn to the doors when Nancy slams them open and while there are already plenty of people who look worse for wear in the waiting room, no one looks quite like the group that just walked in. They're all covered in dirt and ash and sweat and lake water and blood blood bloodbloodblood-

Okay, maybe Steve is starting to panic a little.

Nancy yells for help when no one immediately moves and the gun she's holding definitely helps encourage any nurses and doctors to get over any issues they have treating Eddie.

Robin has to pry Steve's hands off of Eddie's pants. He didn't want to let him go, too scared that he would die and Steve wouldn't be there to help. She manages to gently guide him away from the doors they took Eddie through and she sits him down in a chair before sitting next to him and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"He'll be okay, Stevie. We got him here, he's okay."

Steve knows that she's only saying it to help calm him down, and probably to calm herself down too, but he appreciates it all the same.

As they sit there Steve feels the adrenaline starting to fade and he gets a very stark reminder of how his sides are stinging and every breath makes his shirt rub against the scrapes on his back and arms. If he hadn't been in a state of panic already, worried about Eddie and Max and Lucas and Erica and-

He takes a deep breath and leans into Robin's weight at his side. He can't get help yet, not until he knows everyone else is okay.

(If he were feeling braver he might also admit that he's been a little scared of doctors since Scoops, but he's not feeling very brave at the moment.)

A little while later Steve sees Lucas and Erica and forces himself to stand, hurrying over to check on them, to find out where Max is. He instantly knows that something went wrong when Erica slams into him and holds on tight. He only gets more concerned when Lucas leans in to hold onto Erica and Steve at the same time. And then the pit gets bigger when he feels tears hit his shirt.

"Lucas, hey, you're alright. Hey, look at me- hey. What happened? Where's Max?" Steve stares at Lucas's face as he speaks, trying to get an idea of how he's feeling.

Lucas takes a shuddering breath in before he answers, "She-she-.. it was going fine and then... Jason-Jason fuckin'- he crushed her Walkman and I couldn't-she was floating and Jason had-had a gun and I-She was-was dead, for a minute, and then she-she just started breathing again and I dont-"

Steve pulls Lucas closer again, a hand on the back of his neck to give him support as he spoke quietly. "Okay, alright, you did good. She's here, right? She'll be okay. She's gonna be okay." Steve stayed there with them for who knows how long, only separating when he heard a familiar voice gasp from the door.

"Oh thank god, Erica, Lucas!"

Both of them turned to see their mom in the waiting room and ran at her, where she met them in a crushing hug. As Sue held her children close she looked up, tears falling and made eye contact with Steve. Steve saw her mouth 'Thank you' to him and it made his stomach fall to his feet. Sue had always adored Steve for protecting her kids, first from Billy and then in the "fire" at the mall. But this time, Steve was the reason they got hurt. He let them go off on their own and they got hurt.

He nods and walks back over to Robin and Dustin where they're sitting, suddenly remembering his injuries again as he moves away from the Sinclairs. He has to force himself to walk normally just to make it to the chair, only to nearly collapse back into it.

~~~~

"Alright, time to go, Dust. Now that your foot's been treated I really need to get you home. Claudia is going to start calling morgues if I don't," Steve grunts out as he helps heave Dustin out of his seat and get settled on his crutches. Robin stands once Dustin is steady and she follows them out of the hospital and climbs into the passenger of Steve's car. (Nancy had left once Eddie was taken to stash the RV somewhere and she came back with his beemer. Steve isn't going to ask.)

The ride to Dustin's house is quiet, Steve can tell each of them is silently asking anything out there that the Henderson house was spared. Thankfully when they pulled into the driveway the house was in one piece and only seconds after parking Claudia is yanking open the front door and running out to meet them at the car.

She runs up to Dustin who had managed to stand up using the car as support and they both cling to each other in tears. Steve watches them for a moment before he has to look away or he'll start crying. He spaces out for a bit, just holding Robin's hand when he get startled by the harsh knocks on his window. Looking up, he locks eyes with Claudia and he can't quite read her expression but he can hear her say, "Get your butt out of that car, Steve, I need to look at you. You too, Robbie."

He and Robin make eye contact for a split second before hurrying to comply. As soon as Steve is standing fully he finds himself being yanked down into a hug, Claudia's arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Steve has to take a deep, shaky breath and blink very quickly to stop any tears. He loves Claudia's hugs, they feel like birthdays and Christmas and being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket with hot chocolate all at once. When he hears her mumbling about how glad she is that he's okay, well, maybe he cries a little.

After he and Robin are both fully looked at by Claudia and then each given at least 3 hugs, they climb back into his car and pull away form the Hendersons.

"Am I taking you home or are you coming with me?" Steve glances over at Robin as he says it. He knows the answer without he responding, just because her face pinches in the way it does when she's afraid of making Steve sad.

"I know last time we went to yours but I just... I need to see my parents. I'm so sorry-"

"Robs, it's okay to want to check on your parents. I'm not upset. Can you just.. keep your walkie on our channel tonight?" Steve glances at her again, getting hit with another Robin look that says she can see right through him.

"Always, Stevie. I am sorry though, I hate the idea of you in that house alone."

"I'll be okay, Robbie. I'm just gonna sleep as soon as I get home anyways."

Robin stares at him for a moment longer and then nods, grabbing one of his hands to hold in hers for the last half of the drive. She only lets it go to give him a tight squeeze before hurrying out of the car to her front door.

Steve waits until she's safely inside before he pulls away and goes to his own house.

The moment he shuts the door behind himself it feels like all of the energy in his body has been drained away. He can barely keep himself standing, only the pain that shoots down his spin when he leans back onto the door keeps him upright.

He forces himself to trudge upstairs and goes right to the bathroom. He starts with getting the clothes off, deciding to just cut them off so he doesn't have to lift his arms.

Then comes the cleaning. He first tries to shower but he can only handle standing with pressured water pelting his back and soap stinging his feet for a minute at the most. When he gives up on the shower he figures he should at least try to clean the bites.

One second he's standing in front of the mirror and reaching to pull off the fabric, the next his whole body is covered in sweat and he's sitting on his ass on the tile floor. His hands are shaking at he wants to vomit from the pain.

No changing the bandage then.

Steve forces himself to at least wash his face and hands with a washcloth before he collapses directly into bed and falling asleep in seconds.

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

Claudia is worried. She had already been a little concerned when Steve showed up two days earlier for lunch with a flushed face and too pale skin. She watched him and he didn't act any different but she kept note of it so that she could watch him. But then, when they were supposed to have lunch at 12 and Steve still hadn't shown up or even called by 1, well, Claudia was concerned. Steve always insisted on being on time, claiming it came from all the sports he had done (but she had heard him mumble about his parents harassing him about being late before when he had a head injury, so she just nodded along to his excuses). Being an hour late was entirely out of character and something in her gut, the same feeling she had experienced multiple times over the past few years about her Dusty, told her that she needed to go see him, and soon.

Dustin was thankfully not at home, spending the afternoon with the Wheelers, so she didn't have to tell him what was happening before she got into her car and drove to Steve's house.

What greeted her when she parked only made her more nervous. Steve, she had noticed, had strange habits relating to many things. He had to sit close enough to touch the person next to him, he tried to hide it but he never kept alcohol in the house anymore, he kept the curtains closed facing the backyard, and he always, always leaves the porch light on.

But that afternoon in early April, the porch light was off.

Claudia parked quickly and hurried to the front door, not even bothering with knocking. Instead she pulled out the key Steve had made for her and Dusty after the previous summer and let herself in.

The dread that had been growing in her gut only intensified when she entered the house and a very familiar smell hit her nose.

Body odor, sweat and salt and morning breath.

Bodily fluids, urine and vomit. And blood.

Infection, sickly sweet rot mixing with something like ammonia.

Time seemed to freeze as Claudia ran up the stairs, calling Steve's name all the while. She knew those smells, she had dealt with them at work too many times to not know them, and to smell them in relation to Steve made her blood run cold. She needed to see him, this boy who cared for her Dusty so much, this boy who had wormed his way into her heart, this boy who was her son.

Rushing into Steve's room she was greeted by her worst fears. Steve was lying on his bed, the sheets clearly kicked off and tangled around his ankles. He was only wearing his boxers and they had clearly not been changed in a few days, stained with his sweat and urine. His skin was covered in sweat, his chest and cheeks were bright red and the rest of his skin was a waxy yellow. He was shirtless, vomit covering his chin and chest and staining the pillow and sheets below him. He had what looked like scraps of a sweater or shirt wrapped loosely around his stomach. It was filthy, saturated with sweat, blood, dirt and pus. The smell in the room was much stronger than by the front door, her eyes watering briefly before she forced herself to focus. She was a nurse, she could handle this.

Claudia moved to the bed and gently kneeled onto the mattress. As she moved closer she could hear Steve mumbling to himself but it was so quiet and so slurred that nothing was legible. Claudia placed a hand on his forehead and jerked back in shock at how hot his skin was. Glancing around frantically for anything to help she saw the phone at his bedside table and grabbed it, punching in 911 before cradling the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she continued to check over Steve.

The next moments all passed in a blur for Claudia as she explained who she was and where she was to the dispatcher before they hung up and she waited for the ambulance to arrive. The ride to the hospital passed in what seemed like a blink of an eye and suddenly Claudia found herself in the empty waiting room at Hawkins General and she became aware of two equally important facts.

Her sweater and hands were saturated with Steve's sweat and blood.

She needed to call Robin.

The blood would have to wait, because she knew that Robin would want to be there for Steve so she managed to wipe her hand with some tissues before dialing the Buckley's house.

"Buckley residence, this is Robin," Robin's voice came through the receiver and Claudia let out a loud sigh.

"Robbie, honey, thank goodness you're home. I have some bad news. I'm at the hospital right now sweetie, it's about Steve." Claudia paused after she finished speaking, waiting to see what Robin would say. Unfortunately for Claudia, rather than saying anything, she had to listen to a gut wrenching gasp and sob from Robin, so she chose to keep talking. "I went to his house and found him in his room. I think he had been hurt and it got infected. If your parents are home, I think you should come here, he would want you here."

Robin mumbled a few okays, clearly through tears before she hung up. In the silence after Claudia had no choice but to go clean herself up, allowing herself a minute to collapse onto a toilet seat and cry. Her boy was hurt and she couldn't help him, he was so hurt he didn't even know she was there and she didn't know what to do.

Robin arrived about 10 minutes after they ended their call with a surprise in tow.

Jim Hopper, thinner and without a mustache, but somehow alive and marching into the hospital like he was going into hell. Knowing about his daughter, he probably felt like he was in hell.

Robin spotted Claudia first and ran over to her, arms open and Claudia pulled her right into a tight hug, rocking her back and forth the way Steve always loves. Robin held back just as tight and cried into her shoulder while Claudia whispered to her, "He'll be okay, he's going to be okay."

Jim didn't say anything, just nodded - as if she hadn't thought he was dead until that moment - before he collapsed into a chair, head in his hands and knee bouncing with anxiety.

Hours passed, Robin had curled herself up in a chair next to Claudia and was leaning into her side. Jim had moved to sit on the other side of Robin and surprisingly she reached out and held his hand.

After ages of sitting there in silence a doctor walked through the doors. Claudia recognized her immediately and knew that she had been lucky to find Steve alive if she had been called in. Dr. Graham was one of the only wound specialists they had at the hospital and she focused on the worst cases.

Claudia straightened in her seat, her two companions also coming to attention as Dr. Graham came to sit with them.

"Hello, Claudia. I'm sorry you had to come in on your day off but you got very lucky. If you hadn't brought him in today he may have gone into sepsis. Thankfully he has you listed as his emergency contact so I can fill you in on everything. I want to start by saying that he is currently stable and on heavy medication. He had multiple heavily infected wounds, primarily on his abdomen but there was also apparent road rash across the back of his arms and upper back. We were able to debride the wounds from the rash relatively easily but his abdomen was more difficult. The bandage he had been using was extremely dirty and not made for wound coverage so many fibers had been imbedded into the open wounds. Luckily there had been little necrotizing fasciitis but there was enough that we had to remove the dead tissue. I do want to make sure you understand that he was very seriously injured and delayed treatment made it worse. We are going to test the pus we collected for different bacteria to narrow down the treatment for him but I'm thinking it may be leptospirosis, since he is visibly jaundiced and the injures are obviously animal bites. We have him sedated currently and on heavy antibiotics in the ICU. If you wear protective gear you can visit him for a little bit, but only people on his emergency contact list can come."

Claudia's head was spinning, she was hearing the words being said and she was following the doctor down the hall to the ICU. She was putting paper scrubs on over her clothes and donning a mask and gloves, but it was all in a daze. She needed to see Steve, she needed to see him breathing, then she would be okay.

She was not okay.

Seeing Steve only made her collapse into a chair in tears. He looked so small in the hospital bed, wrapped in wires and tubes. But he was breathing. Robin collapsed onto the foot of his bed and bent over his shins while she sobbed and Jim stumbled into the wall by the door with a hand over his eyes as his shoulders shook with silent anguish. They knew he wasn't out of the woods yet, but he was breathing and he had to be okay.

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

Alright that was part one, I'm working on the next half but wow that ended up being really long

Taglist

@maya-custodios-dionach @ape31 @eldtritchlizardblast @y4r3luv @devondespresso @zerokrox-blog @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @estrellami-1 @jonesn4coffee @whatexactlyismyhoohah @lingeringmirth @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @spectrum-spectre @steddieasitgoes @puppy-steve @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @nburkhardt @sllooney @princessstevemunson @yellowdevilkitten @emchant3d @steddie-island @afewproblems

#steddie #it will be happening in the next part just not yet #stranger things #steve harrington #platonic stobin #robin buckley #claudia henderson #parental jim hopper #i just tagged a bunch of people who responded to the last post lmao #this was so interesting to write because i am such a fucking nerd that I spent like 5 minutes searching for common bacterial infections #specifically from animal bites #please enjoy my word vomit of emotional unloading #my period gave me the motivation to do this

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diazsdimples · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @theotherbuckley @steadfastsaturnsrings and @puppyboybuckley (who published the final chapter of the Mudslide Fic, PLEASE go read it!)

I wasn’t gonna do this today cause I had the shift from hell and didn’t manage to write anything yesterday between birthday things but I managed to cobble this together after my shift! Frostpunk AU weirdly came back to me so please enjoy this small snippet!

Much to Buck’s relief, both Edmundo and Christopher are still alive when they make it back to the city, in record time as Bobby will have him believe. Rappelling down the cliff with two semi-conscious, reasonably unstable patients is more difficult than they’d initially anticipated, so in a rush of fear as he watches Bobby struggle with Christopher, Buck offers to bring the boy down himself.

Much like they did the day Buck carried Christopher to the cabin, they strap the child to Buck’s chest, using a small harness stored in the med kit on a “just in case” basis. Christophers head clunks repetitively against Buck’s chest as he pushes them off the cliff, slowly letting the rope out with each jump. He wishes that it wasn’t a two-hand job, that he could cradle Christopher’s head with one hand and keep the rope moving with the other.

Above him, Bobby abseils down with Edmundo dangling to the side of him in a basket. They’d done one last temperature check on the two of them before descending into the heavy, cold mist that lay over the city, and Edmundo’s had been the lowest they’d seen it since the rescue. The way Eli’s face had paled and he’d instantly tugged Bobby aside, talking with him in low, hushed tones was enough to tell Buck about the state of his health.

It made a cold, thrill of fear rush down Buck’s spine, settling in the pit of his stomach as a constant reminder of how precarious Edmundo and Christopher’s situation was, as he carried the small boy to safety.

The moment Buck and Christopher touched the ground, they were pounced on by a team of medics, headed by Hen.

“What’s the story, Buck?” Hen asked as she hurried to help peel off Buck’s outer layers and unclip him from the harness.

“Found this guy and his dad half frozen yesterday. He’s probably 7 or 8 years old and got moderate to severe hypothermia. Eli’s been monitoring him and he’s stable but barely conscious. Probably malnourished and seriously dehydrated,” Buck pants as he lowers Christopher onto the stretcher Hen has prepared. The kid’s light brown curls fall over his face, curling against his eyelids and Buck reaches out a tender hand to brush them back before he can stop himself.

If Hen notices, she chooses not to mention the look in his eyes as he does this.

“Alright, we’re going to take him to the med tent now. What about his dad?” Hen asks as two medics swiftly hoist Christopher’s stretcher into the air and run off in the direction of the nearest med tent.

Buck watches, half in a daze as Edmundo is lowered to the ground. His lips are pale and chapped, and his face looks lifeless and devoid of colour as his head lols to the side. A sick feeling creeps through Buck’s body as he thinks of how close they came to not making it back. How close Christopher came to losing his father.

“This is Edmundo Diaz, severe hypothermia, dehydration and malnourishment. He’s had issues with his oxygen and heart rate consistently through the journey home. Hen, he’ll need around the clock care, someone to stay with him, to keep an eye on him,” Buck says, hearing the urgency in his voice as he speaks. He doesn’t know what compels him, other than a sense that Edmundo is the other half of a magnet that’s drawing him ever closer, but Buck continues talking. “You guys can’t spare another medic but I-I don’t mind sitting with him. I’m good at taking his vitals a-and I could keep an eye on the kid.”

Hen eyes him, as if trying to read what his true motivation is. “Go,” she finally says, inclining her head towards the tent. Buck doesn’t need to be told twice.

No pressure tagging @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @evanbegins @smilingbuckley @thekristen999 @elvensorceress @rainbow-nerdss @wikiangela @daffi-990 @watchyourbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @aroeddiediaz @jesuisici33 @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @nmcggg @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @kitteneddiediaz @epicbuddieficrecs @spagheddiediaz @loserdiaz

#james writes #frostpunk au #tired words that probably don’t make sense #hoping this pulls me out of my writing funk #buddie #eddie diaz #911 abc #evan buckley #911 buddie #911verse #911 fanfic #911 #eddie x buck

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cringe-but-proud · 4 months

Note

Would you do a 1610 miles morales request where he and the reader became close at visions and she figures out he’s Spider-Man so he tends to go to hers when needing comfort/help so one night after patching him up, they end up sharing a bed cause he’s too hurt to go home and they’re both flustered and cute cause they clearly like each other?

Yurrrrrr

Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of pain/injury, reader and miles share a bed (NOTHING SPICY 😑)

A/n: First non-second person POV fic on here. As always, my requests are open 🥳

Tonight had been pretty rough for Miles. He had gotten in a pretty bad fight with some guys that were trying to rob a jewelry store. He had stopped them, which was good, but his entire body felt sore.

So, like always, he made his way over to her apartment.

This had become a sort of regular thing for him to do. His best friend, Y/n, was one of the only people who knew about his secret identity, and so, he went to her whenever he was in need of some quick first aid.

Miles swung over to the familiar apartment building and knocked on her bedroom window.

After a short moment, Y/n opened the window for him. She scanned his disheveled state while helping him climb through the window. "Wow, you look like shit." She commented.

"Thanks. Good to see you too." Miles replied as he pulled his mask off and let it fall to the ground.

She laid a towel on her bed before he sat down (Y/n was very serious about Miles not getting blood on her sheets) and grabbed the first aid kit that she kept in her room.

"Rough night?" She asked as she got out some of the medical supplies she'd be using.

"Yeah. I'm alright though."

She began disinfecting the wound and a comfortable silence fell over them. Miles always liked coming over to her place. Even though he was almost always injured or hurt when he came over. He liked how cozy her room was, he liked that she always had music playing, and he liked that she was always too focused on patching him up to notice him staring at her.

After about 30 minutes of tending to his wounds, she finished with a relieved sigh. "You're lucky I like you, dude. If anyone else asked me to do something like this I'd tell them to never talk to me again."

Miles chuckled and looked down at the floor. "Uh... Thanks?" He tried standing up, but winced.

"You alright?" Y/n asked, looking back at Miles as she put away the first aid kit.

"Yeah... Just a little sore." He said as he sat back down on her bed.

"You gonna be able to make it back home?'

Miles thought about it for a moment. He didn't think he had the strength to swing or even walk home right now. "Uh..."

"If you need to you can stay the night." She tells him

"Really?"

"Of course, man." She smiled softly. "It's not a big deal."

To Miles it was a big deal. Staying over at his crush's house? Huge deal.

But, he had to play it cool.

"Uh... Yeah, alright." He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing.

Y/n had given him some of her oversized clothes for him to sleep in.

There was a brief argument over the sleeping situation (Miles didn't want to kick Y/n out of her own room, but Y/n wasn't gonna make an injured Miles sleep on the couch) they decided to just share the bed.

No big deal. Two friends sharing a bed. Totally normal. No big deal.

Miles settled into her bed, back turned to her as he stared at the wall.

The two of you exchanged a brief 'good night' and then it was silent.

Miles was wide awake. The position he was laying in was uncomfortable, but he didn't dare move. The minutes passed by like hours and he wanted to look at the time, but he couldn't wake her up.

Little did he know, Y/n was feeling the exact same way. Wide awake, unable to move, and unable to speak.

Somehow, against all odds, after what was probably at least 2 hours of still, dead silence, they both managed to fall asleep.

If they thought falling asleep next to each other was awkward, then the dilemma of waking up cuddling each other was going to be absolutely unbearable.

#x reader #fanfiction #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse x reader #miles morales x reader #spiderman x reader

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pix3lplays · 10 months

Note

How about reader have to gave birth in a not convenient situation like maybe hiding from enemy? What would the hsr men do in that situation?

Oooh an intriguing scenario, thank you for the request!

Cw! Violence, pregnancy

-pregnant!reader goes into labor in unideal conditions-

Dan Heng: Dan Heng wasn’t expecting you to have no choice but to give birth on the Astral Express, but the baby was coming too fast for you to have any other choice. Thankfully the others on the Astral Express are there to support you, Himeko and Welt may not necessarily have a Ton of medical experience, but they manage well enough in supporting you through the birth, which Dan Heng will be forever in their debt for. He was, unfortunately, kicked out of the room you were in do to him being way too anxious and distracting them, but he’s allowed back in when the baby is born, and he gets to meet his beautiful child.

Jing Yuan: Jing Yuan and you are busy on a mission with the cloud knights and Yanqing when you feel it. You’re so far from a hospital though, and there are many mara-struck standing between you and the hospital. He doesn’t see any other choice. He gives a simple command to Yanqing, who nods firmly in understanding, readying his blades. Jing Yuan just…picks you up, following closely behind Yanqing as the boy leads the way to the hospital, protecting the two of you from any mara-struck along the way. It’s an Insane strategy, but hey! It works. Jing Yuan’s surprised that they made it to the hospital in time, but he’s going to pretend he had the entire situation under control. Even if you and Yanqing know he was freaking out just as much as the two of you.

Sampo Koski: You hated when Sampo dragged you into any of his schemes, and today was one of those days where he decided to do Just That. That’s when you felt it. The baby was coming, and you were currently being chased by the Silvermane Guards due to Sampo trying to scam the wrong Captain. You were, of course, freaking out while you told him. He was dragging you by the wrist when he suddenly screeches to a halt, shouting: “are you serious?!” You frantically nod, “what are we gonna do, Sampo?!” Thank goodness for those weird little smoke bombs he was so fond of. You’re unsure you would’ve gotten away in time if he didn’t have them. But thankfully he’s able to get you to Natasha’s Clinic in time for the baby’s arrival, just barely able to throw the Guards off your scent.

Blade: Oh, poor Blade doesn’t know what to do while you’re on a mission and you suddenly grab him by the arm and insist the baby’s coming. He’s busy fighting for both of your lives?? What do you MEAN the baby’s coming?? Well regardless, he has to do something, and do something FAST. He doesn’t know what else to do beyond try to get you somewhere safe, fending off enemies while relying on you to manage yourself. Somehow things work themselves out, but even Blade is shaken by the situation. By the time he’s finished cutting down the last enemy, the baby has been born, healthy and strong and it’s amazing you managed to do that all by yourself to be honest. He’s very impressed and proud of you.

Luocha: Luocha had Definitely not been expecting to deliver his own baby, but given the circumstances he didn’t have much choice. You were currently hiding from the mara-struck in a storage container when you felt the baby coming, and coming FAST. So he delivers his baby in a storage container, hoping the two of you were quiet enough for the mara-struck to not hear you, which was a lot to ask but once again, what choice did the two of you have?! It’s actually very successful thankfully, and the two of you can wait out the mara-struck, with your baby.

Gepard Landau: you were bringing him lunch, all the way out on the front lines, despite him telling you repeatedly that it was dangerous, and way too far from the hospital just in case the baby should come- And of course, while you’re visiting, you feel it. The baby is coming. THANKFULLY he did happen to have a medic on standby who could deliver the baby, but oh is the poor man stressed that you’re giving birth in a frozen wasteland instead of a nice, safe hospital. But what can you do? The baby is delivered safely, if not a little cold, but that’s okay, because as long as they’re healthy he’s happy.

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swelling-ftm-belly · 2 months

Text

The Surrogate, pt.1

you always wanted to be a father, didn’t you? your husband finally agreed. He decided to show more support, you both had an agreement. it’s not like you didn’t try the other options that wouldn’t make your husband uncomfortable. adoption proved to be an excruciating path; you both agreed on exploring surrogacy. this is when I came into your life.

you came about knowing me from a mutual friend; we agreed to meet for the first time at that innocently quiet cafe at your posh neighborhood, your husband was, of course, there.

I remember the sting of jealousy I felt that day. you both looked like the dream couple, so handsome and accomplished, one in finance and the other in the fashion industry. and here I was, broke, with nobody to support me, and willing to offer up my boywomb for money.

I never interpreted the glint in your eyes everytime I opened my mouth to speak as attraction. you were kind, a kind, reliable man, your eyes shone with warmth, you were totally devoted to your husband, to starting a family with him. didn’t you?

that day, after I left, I didn't expect you to reach out again, your husband was, for some reason, visibly uncomfortable, eyeing me with a sharpness I couldn’t fathom. I decided to let it go, although I started fantasizing already about your baby growing in my belly.

to my surprise, you asked for another meeting. your husband was there, and that’s when you proposed your arrangement, you’re good at this, at convincing people, it must have taken your husband a lot of convincing.

you wanted us to do it the natural way, both of you ‘taking turns’ with me. you thought this would easily offer equal chance of you or your husband having a biological child, so you wouldn’t have to decide which one’s sperm will be chosen for surrogacy.

my mouth dropped, dry, but my pussy was already wet in my pants. your husband looked furious, and I wondered if he felt pressured to be onboard, while you looked at me with concern, and apologized for the indecent proposal. and I said I’ll think about it.

the thing is, I was a virgin, a total virgin, I never had a cock inside my pussy before. and I was doing this only for the money, I was ill-informed, I thought this was gonna be all in a lab in a very medical setting. they’ll give me an injection and I’ll have your money then carry the baby for 9 months and that’s it. but now, now, I didn’t know any more, it was already giving me feelings and fantasies I wasn’t prepared for.

my pussy was wet the whole way back from our meeting, and I masturbated that night to the image of you spreading my legs.

I sent you a text apologizing for not being able to be your surrogate. it was too much, and I got scared of the way it made me feel.

but your husband showed up the next day at the diner where I waited tables. Although still aloof and apprehensive, he begged me, dryly, to accept, he wanted his husband happy. and the thought of your unhappiness pained me, I knew I was developing a strong crush on you.

the agreement was that your husband arranges everything, and decides when we will meet to do it, how, and for how many times.

a week later i came to your place, a huge 3 rooms apartment, I saw that you had a baby room already.

your husband received me, and I couldn’t see you anywhere, my heart sank, and I resisted the urge to turn away and run. you were late to work, your husband said you were working late hours lately, in a frustrated tone, I wondered whether you were truly the dream couple i imagined you were.

I wondered if all this was your husband's last attempt to save the marriage, my thoughts got ahead of me when we heard the keys in the door, you were here. No kisses? your husband, tense and impatient, told you to join us in the bedroom quickly, you didn’t even manage to shower.

i got dressed first, your husband was supposed to be the first. despite his apparent resentment towards me, I was surprsed to see that he was already hard, did he get off of the fact that his husband was going to fuck another boy in front of him? maybe. I sat down on the bed, then laid there, spreading my legs, I ran my fingers over the lips of my wet pussy, your husband grunted, “no, on your knees.”

I sighed and changed position, I was aware of you, getting undressed, your breathing was loud, you were stroking your cock, I glanced at you, your eyes were dark and cloudy with an intensity I never imagined in you, you were so proper, so decent, so uptight. I felt the tip of you husband’s cock at my opening, he kept his erection, I was impressed. i bit my lip, and looked up to you, you were standing at the corner, looking at us and touching yourself, my pussy must be dripping right now, your husband saw you and that aggravated him.

he thrust into me, without a warning, he didn’t even take time to stroke my tdick, or tease the opening of my pussy with his tip, he thrusted hard, and violently, I think i heard him grunt, it was a low, quiet grunt, as if he was angry at his own, unexpected lust. he rammed into me without mercy, I moaned in pain, no pleasure yet, I was being plowed aggressively, his cock was at least 7 inch or more, and he was thick, it was tearing apart my virgin pussy, I heard myself say no, whimpering weakly, you approached us, concerned, my eyes welled with tears, and i held back a cry of pain, you were about to intervene, except that your husband grunted one last time and with a final, deep thrust, he exploded inside of me. i felt his cum, hot and prefuse, you two probably haven’t fucked in a while, it was a few weeks load.

I was still on all four, my knees shaking, my jaw clenched, you approached me, “hey, hey. you ok? Do you want to stop?” I was about to break down in tears, when your husband said, “no intimacy, you’re gonna fuck on all four too. let’s get done with it.”

you breathed hard, I felt your warm breath on my back, I perched my ass up to make it easier for you to enter me, your husband’s cum was dripping down my thighs, he went and turned on the shower, and you took the opportuning, your hand slid to rub my tdick, I kept quiet, you leaned forward, your nose in the small of my neck, you opened your mouth, and your tongue touched my skin, it sent me into a delirious kind of pleasure, i let out a sigh, your big, long fingers circling my clit, my vaginal lips, your other hand was on my mouth, for some reason, your husband chilled, perhaps it was a post-nut chill, he ignored us and went showering. you inserted two fingers in my mouth, and the two fingers of your other hand in my pussy, your thumb on my clit, giving me slight pressure, you kept me quiet, we were accomplices, we both knew your husband shouldn’t hear my moans of pleasure.

you felt he was about to be done with his shower, your tip was on my opening, you had the bigger cock, and I was prepared for more pain, except there wasn’t.

you managed to slid into me slowly, my pussy took your cock with such eagerness, it embarrassed me, your tongue was in my neck, in my earlobe, your mouth getting close to mine. and when you buried your cock, all the way in, up to my cervix, you stole a kiss, your mouth was wet, and warm, i felt your tongue, we heard your husband getting out of the shower, you held me, your hands moved down and rested on my lower belly, while your cock continued to thrust deep inside me, your husband was whistling in the bathroom, you were panting hard, your hips moving frantically, your hand gripping my belly, you whispered my name, “I want to fill you with my babies.”

I felt my womb ache and twitch, the tip of your huge cock ramming into my cervix, my pussy was gripping you so hard, my eyes rolled back from the intense pleasure, I whimpered, “yes, yes, put a baby in me, daddy.” I was shocked at myself, my womb, feeling so empty at the time, was desperate for your seed, I’ve never been so desperate. you grabbed my hips and thrusted into me, i felt a mix of intense pain and pleasure, I welcomed the pain, I welcomed the pleasure and I welcomed your seed inside me, I felt a fire burning in my womb. although you did eventually get me pregnant with your babies, I always wondered if it happened at that first time already.

We were spent. i collapsed on the bed, and you collapsed sitting on the floor, away from me, your husband was back in the room, I laid on the bed, legs spread and cum spilling out of my torn pussy. “you better get dressed now, sweetheart, we have dinner plans later tonight.”

TBC

#ftm pregnancy #mpreg belly #ftm breeding #mpregnancy #mpreg kink #ftm sub #trans pregnancy #trans breeding #ftm bottom #ftm cnc #mpreg #male pregnancy #gayboy #pregnant ftm #pregnant boy

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