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Bleachers and Bedside Manner - Jack Abbott x Reader

Dr Jack Abbott x Fem!College Athlete!Reader

Warnings: Light-ish injuries on reader, mention of reader diving (in volleyball), reader has been playing for 10-14 years, age gap (20ish-late 40s), Jack is kinda a lil perv but reader might be too, almost spicy but not at all, he checks out her ass, I know less about how an er works considering I’m premed

Summary: It’s too early to be awake, let alone dislocate a shoulder and concuss yourself at practice. Maybe a hot doctor will make it a little easier.

Notes: I js kinda puked this out after binging the Pitt for a third time idk, once again English is not my first language, I’m tired, and this wasn’t proofread.

Word count: ~635 (js a lil blurb)

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4:30 in the morning — too early for most people to be awake, let alone flooding the ED. The few patients who were there didn’t wait long, and despite the superstitions surrounding the word, it was slow. Hence why Dr. Abbott stood a few feet from the nurse’s station counter, tossing pens into a cup while glancing at the board.

Jack was bored enough to take the next case no one else jumped on — a 20-year-old female with a concussion and a dislocated shoulder. Nothing out of the ordinary, though he was never one to turn down a case anyway. Once you had been called back, assisted by a nurse to walk toward a private space, Jack nodded his thanks. Sitting you down on the bed, he took a seat on the rolling stool in front of you.

“So, I guess a good place to start is — how did this happen?”

“Uhm… yeah — I was at pre-season practice this morning, and I was diving, like… really far for a ball. I dove into the bleachers.”

Jack hummed in acknowledgment, eyeing your chart as he filled out other sections. You’d only been marked as having a mild concussion and a dislocated shoulder — which you’d earlier described as “kinda numb” — so he made a mental note to ask if anything else was bothering you.

“You play volleyball?” he asked, shining a penlight into your eyes, one warm hand gently bracing your head.

“Mhm — since I was eight,” you replied softly, sniffling away the tears from earlier. You shivered a little in the cold hospital air, dressed only in what you’d worn to practice: spandex shorts, a UPenn t-shirt, kneepads, and athletic shoes — not exactly ideal for the chill.

“Mm, must be pretty hardcore then. Can you tell me your name and date of birth, sweetheart?” His hands moved to the shoulder of your dominant arm, frowning a little at the wince you gave when he pressed too hard.

When you recited your info without issue and described the pain in your shoulder, he looked into your teary eyes and told you he’d make sure you could keep playing.

“Okay, I’m gonna have you lie down for me — there you go,” he said gently, clearing his throat at the way your thighs squeezed together as you adjusted on the table. “This might feel a little weird, but I’m just going to rotate your arm.”

His hands settled on your skin, the heat of his touch grounding as he brought your arm up, then over.

A pop sounded, and the pain washed away — relief bubbled in your small laugh.

“And… there we go.” Jack smiled at your happiness, giving your arm a soft rub before standing to grab a sling. “See? Isn’t that better?” he teased, raising an eyebrow before helping you sit back up.

“So, we’ll keep you in the sling for about four weeks, but I have to recommend waiting at least ten before playing again.”

He saw the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you looked up at him. Jack ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper curls before helping you into the sling.

“I’d suggest a follow-up with your athletic trainer or primary provider — whichever works best for you,” he added after a moment, his fingers lingering a little longer than strictly professional.

“Yeah. Uh, thank you, Dr. Abbott. You’ve been really great,” you said, your eyes trailing from his arms to his kind, tired eyes. Batting thick lashes and offering a shy smile, you had him grinning like he didn’t have a license on the line. But the curve of your ass in those navy blue spandex had him muttering a curse under his breath as you left.

However, you had come to a different realization.

Dr. Abbott definitely talks you through it.

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I’m sorry 😞

[bradshawsweetheart]

Hiii :) 🐮

Also, are we allowed to use these 😦

Hi!! Yes!

It looks like we are continuing with the angst🥲

send me a 🐮 and i will refresh my pinterest and give u my first four pics as a random moodboard

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If you're still looking for requests, ANYTHING with Melissa King x female reader would be so appreciated ! Nsfw, sfw, headcanons, legit anything, I'm starving

Ngl this is one I’m really excited for so to all the others waiting on requests, so sorry their currently being worked on :)

ANYWAY MEL I LOVE HER SO MUCH.

If you worked in The Pitt or VA with Mel, she’d for sure find you on every break to just be near you. The presence would make her feel better, knowing that you’re there

She’d get so excited every time you called her a nickname ! Maybe Melly or something cute, idk, but it would make her smile and get so giddy inside

Introducing you to her sister would be a few weeks into a relationship (talking stage?) but she would be very relieved when you get along with her. Seeing two of her favourite people together bonding would just make it feel right. If you got close enough with her sister, they would make the offer some week to bring you on their Friday routines 😭🫶

Going on walks !! On warm evenings !! That you both have off !!

Trying new things with her hair and she’s excited because not only is she just sososo beautiful but she likes the gentleness of your hands on her. Maybe Dutch braids w some flowers in there.

Bringing Mel a lotus on her lunch break because she doesn’t like most coffee, and she thinks things like redbull or monsters are way too unhealthy

So anyway idk this was literally js what was on the dome, sorry if it’s not what you were looking for :( might write for my bbg in the future !!

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Too Much To Ask - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Aaron Hotchner x Wife!Bau!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a flashback, crying, mourning, mid writing, lots of mentions of death, Aaron deserves better, but so did you.

Summary: Part Two to Suck it and See. It’s been nine days since you died, how does Aaron deal with that? The fact that you are truly dead has sunken in further and it’s not coming out.

Notes: Chapter 2! Idk why the header quality is so low. Anyway, I was kinda half asleep for most of the time writing this so lowkey don’t expect greatness 😭 DREADING how sad chapter 3 will be. Also I definitely didn’t proofread this uhm

Tag(s): @ssaaaronmontgomery

Word Count: 1,661

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Present Day

21 February

A certain numbness he had learned to recognize had taken over his body. The nine days that had passed felt like an eternity, and each one left Aaron with a new spew of emotions and memories that wrecked him over and over again. He could hardly stomach the sound of your name anymore, the pictures of you on the mantle — it made him feel sick. Every reminder of what he failed to do made him coil in on himself in the hopes he could disappear.

The recollection of every single memory he held of you was a mental photo album, trying to cling to every detail about you. Who would know of the tiny things that made you who you were if you were never there to tell them? It would be as though you never existed. But now it was a stark reminder of the information he held that he couldn’t ever let go of. What was he supposed to do when he smelled a perfume that was similar to yours, or saw records for a band you would rave about? How could he move on from knowing so much about you that he knew your middle school best friends full name and your childhood stuffed animal? There wasn’t a storage unit to shove them, no shelf for those details to collect dust on like the real photo albums you’d kept in the closet.

Aaron had shed more tears in the past three weeks than his whole life before that. And somehow, through that, he had to be a father. He had to be a parent while he tried not to forget your voice. He had to care for Jack while he picked out the suit he would wear at your funeral tomorrow. Nothing could have prepared him for that five years ago, because he never thought it could happen to you. And somehow, he felt a little stupid for that. How could it not have happened to you, in your like of work?

It was dark, somewhere close to four in the morning. He had hardly slept, if at all, busy staring at the emptiness of his bed in the moonlight cast through the window. It hadn’t been made or changed since you’d awoken the morning you died. Aaron hadn’t slept enough to mess it up, but there were always a few more tear stains on your pillowcase than you left. He had touched so few of your things since that day, since the day you left your home to meet death itself. The top dresser drawer was still open, you always forgot to shut that one. The lid of your perfume still sat on your bedside table, even though the bottle was in the bathroom. Because when he was tired, grieved, desperate enough, he could almost think you were still home. But you weren’t. Maybe it was Aaron’s false hope of hearing you getting ready just one more time.

He had yet to return to work, there hadn’t hardly been any cases worth hearing of — not when the only file he could think of was yours. The five other departments working the case somehow gave him enough sanity to stay away from the office. Truthfully, he couldn’t bring himself to come up with a profile or even track down the group that you’d surrendered to. If only he knew that you did it for him.

Aaron sat on the chair in the corner of your shared room — the chair you’d loved so much that he’d been convinced to move it into the bedroom. Now sitting in it felt wrong without you giggling in his ear, saying something about how comfy it was before you sat on his lap to pepper his face with gentle kisses between laughs as he pinched your side for it. The soft fabric made his throat ache as he clutched your sweater that had been absentmindedly tossed on the arm, as though maybe flesh and a beating heart would replace the empty blue sleeves.

Dark eyes turned watery and red at the memory, because that’s all you were now — a memory. There would never be another night spent together, another day with Jack at the park, not even another argument. God, he’d have done anything for just another few moments.

The night had consisted of a lot of arguments, disagreements that nobody could get the breath to calmly dissect. You were afraid, of course, but you were sure of what had to happen. Aaron had begged, pleaded, and yelled for you to just go into witness protection instead of handing your life over to some cultist group of sociopaths. You told him, “Everybody has to do things that don’t seem right.”. You’d decided that this was just one of those things. You’d let Jack sleep in the bed with you and Aaron, snuggled between the two of you as Aaron held you both. Both of you had woken up early, letting Jack sleep as you spoke in the kitchen.

“Honey, please, I can’t- you can’t do this. We still need you,” he tried, choked up and eyes more pleading than they’d ever been. How could he convince you to live just a little longer? Did your lack of fighting back the knowledge of your death say something? Was that what you wanted?

“You don’t get it, it’s… it’s what has to happen, okay? You know I love you and Jack so much,” you replied, eye bags prominent and telling of the fear and exhaustion that enveloped you. But he couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t let him save you, why you didn’t try to save yourself just a little more. At some point, Aaron’s arms supported you more than your own body, his entire being nearly engulfing you. He wished maybe you’d somehow merge together, anything to make sure you would wake up again.

And when he realized that an hour after that conversation that your body had gone cold on the sidewalk, he felt a little nauseous. The man who’d put the bullet through your temple was dead now, but his employer had alerted the team of your whereabouts — he couldn’t bring himself to see you. Tomorrow would be the first time in ten days that he would get to see you in the flesh, even if that flesh was chilled and pale where you lay in an open casket. It never seemed right that a reunion wouldn’t have both people breathing, though.

His mind was racing, incapable of staying focused on one thought regarding you for more than a few minutes. The biggest question he really held was that of why you had been so okay to die, willing, even. With a pinching migraine he’d been unable to rid himself of, Aaron finally let a stray tear slide down his cheek as his eyesight crashed upon the picture of you, him, and Jack together cooking dinner. It was one you’d looked at a thousand times before getting it printed and framed, and now rarely could he gaze at it without a sinking feeling in his chest.

Even with a mental to-do list in his mind, Aaron couldn’t bring himself to move. Tonight the house would be full once more with the Wake, people gathered that all reminded him of you. Rossi and JJ were coming early, noon or so, to help set up (the demand for him to let them help made him smile for the first time since they were alerted you were gone). There was a neatly pressed black suit on the bed, and it seemed simple, he always laid his suits out when he was getting dressed – but the reason for having to wear that suit tonight, and another tomorrow? It was an aching in his throat he found himself unable to press down.

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It was seven pm, and the house was more crowded than in his worst nightmares. But he found solace in some of the people that came to mourn. Jack rarely left his side, and the team was always there to bail them out of any uncomfortable conversations. The worst conversation that he couldn’t be bailed out, though, was his meeting with your parents. A somber looking woman with a smile kinder than he knew how to handle and a man who couldn’t break the steady stream of tears flowing into a neatly trimmed beard. This was Aaron’s second time meeting your parents (the first was at your wedding), neither them or you two had the time to fly across the country anymore to meet. It wasn’t right, parents should be met over dinner or at holidays, not the night before their child’s funeral where they reminisced in every reflection from the world of you.

A gentle hug had been issued to both of them, Aaron’s heart faltering at the details from you he saw in both of them. Your mothers nose, your fathers eyes, but neither of them could ever bring quite the same joy into his life. Words that could hardly be spoken above a whisper were exchanged before Jack ran back over, excited to meet his grandparents once more — there’d been video calls and letters, but only a few visits. His mind was a powerhouse of emotions right now, standing in the kitchen where he could almost swear you were holding him, humming a gentle tune while you soothed him. It was as though you really were still saying, “It’s okay, Aaron, tomorrow is a new day.” But he knew you weren’t, because why else would every friend and family member see your wedding ring on a chain around his neck?

Tomorrow was in fact a new day, but he didn’t want it to arrive. Seeing your body in a casket surrounded by flowers until you were lowered into the ground wasn’t the new day he was looking for, because it would solidify the fact that you were gone forever.

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[ksascriptt]

You’re Gonna Go Far | Avengers x Reader

Avengers x Fem!Avenger!Reader, Mildly implied Tony Stark x Reader

WARNINGS : PLEASE ADHERE BY THESE. Very heavy topics. Depression, suicide, blood, gore, scalpel, talk of ripping things out, anxiety, probably mild ptsd. Some fluff, the most severe angst I’ve ever written, not proofread I wrote this in like an hour, kinda horrible

Word count: 2367 (longest fic yet!)

Notes: This is not very accurate or anything. For some context, Reader has always had banshee-like/sonic scream powers but when she used it consistently, it kinda tore up her throat and voice box so she got a new bionic one. And she lost her eye in battle somehow so she’s got a robotic one.

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You never showed the signs, at least not easily.

They weren’t blatantly displayed in behaviours or messages, there wasn’t a book of those thoughts or days where it was obvious what you planned to do.

So really, nobody was to blame for what happened. Let alone you. How could they hold it against you, when nobody could even recognize it was happening.

There was nothing they could’ve done to stop it, to stop you, because it was fated to happen, scrawled in the fabric of the universe. It had to happen. You had to do it. Every arrow pointed to it, it was just a fact. But, truthfully, that was what made it the worst.

It was quick, like a snap of your fingers, and then all of a sudden, it was like the world had shifted; because it did. You were the greatest thing they had ever lost, and nobody could figure out why you left them so soon. Not even Earths Mightiest Heroes.

Not even the leader of the elite profilers that you’d known and loved far too much. It took Tony a week to find the letter you’d left. Seven days, far longer than it should have. You didn’t want anybody to find out, apparently, and that’s exactly how it turned out. Tony said you nearly always got what you wanted anyway.

So maybe it was for the best, but none of your loved ones would ever be able to understand why. They didn’t have to. It was the secret that went with you into the ground, and that was what needed to happen. But the curiosity never swayed, the yearning for the reasons you could do such a horrible thing only grew as the days and weeks passed. Though, a small part of them all, knew exactly why you did it. They just didn’t want to admit it.

There was before it happened, and there was after. And before, there has been some rough days. It had been a rough week, In fact. For everyone, really. Nobody could deny that as a fact. The missions had been particularly grueling — one with losses that left everybody a bit more empty inside — and the legal issues were almost worse. Grieving the loss of normalcy and pieces of your soul was necessary after every mission for everyone. But after a few hours, someone typically made the move to bring some sense of comfort to the team. Sometimes it was ordering food, or going out for an activity. Other times it was a movie night, or maybe an arts and craft nobody particularly tried on but goofed off with. Today it was making dinner together, like a family. The family that wasn’t asked for, but needed. The family that couldn’t bring themselves to leave one another alone, isolated, pained. And they didn’t, at least not on the surface.

Via the usage of a vote (that was mostly useless), the group had decided on making pasta accompanied by salad, strawberries, and Peter (accompanied by Steve) got put on dessert duty — blondies, if they had to guess. For a lot of it, it was a few people splitting the tasks and working, while the others talked, brought comedic relief, and would probably eventually go off to the living room while they waited on dinner when they realized they would not be of use. So, in short, you and Tony were the only two remaining in the kitchen (aside from Bruce, but he had headphones in). You sat on the counter next to a large serving platter of sliced strawberries and on your right was the stove, where you eyed some noodles being cooked and Tony perfecting his craft of Alfredo. It was domestic, sweet, and you could see the others on the couch watching what seemed to be Up, based on the tears that welled in a few of their eyes. A smile you had been unfamiliar with lately had found its way back to your lips for just a moment. “What’s on your mind, honey?” The man asked, rubbing his bearded jaw. Dark eyes gazed over towards you on the counter, curious at the very least.

“Hm?” You hummed, making true eye contact with Tony. “What’re you thinking about?” He repeated himself, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to evaluate what was wrong with you. “Uh,” you almost slipped, “nothing. Just..tired; and my ears.” For the record, both were true. You hadn’t slept properly in weeks now, but the help of naps and energy drinks had been able to mask that for the first few. Maybe your luck was running out. Although, the ear pain and migraines were properly excused, an unfortunate downside of the odd abilities you’d gotten. A tragic one you’d found the hard way in childhood. One you couldn’t shake, even to this day. “Uh-huh,” Tony sarcastically murmured, brain prowling every possible thing that could be wearing you down. Tony always knew when something was wrong, it was just a matter of getting you to fess up to it. But this didn’t feel right, didn’t sit well with him.

It was a few hours later, after everyone had eaten and gone to bed, that the reminder of just how alone you were really set in. The darkness hit you, cracked through your bruised ribs and choked its way down your sore throat. With shut curtains and shut off lights, you truly couldn’t describe the feelings you held now. Tony had started to catch on, and surely the others had too. You hoped maybe you could take that piece of pain from them, keep it hidden in your chest and away from them. It wasn’t theirs to see, to feel, or at least it shouldn’t have been.

Being an Avenger was everything to you, but it took everything in you every single day. The missions, the cruel losses, the mental and physical battles that piled up the emotions. But the sense of family, of community, the feeling of being loved by people who had been through so much, made it worth it. There would come a day when the price to pay was too much. You’d been able to shake it off easily enough your first year or so of being part of the initiative, but now you started to hold something against it. Or maybe against yourself?

It was tug-of-war in your mind, a psychological battle where you sat on the floor of the dark living room. Of course you all had dark days; that was guaranteed. But the days that you felt like you were trying to play catch up to your own life made you wish for something else, something more. Losing physical and mental pieces of yourself every mission was starting to feel like more than it was worth. I mean, really, the bionic eye and vocal box was probably a good example of that. Yes, as a family and community, the Avengers were caring and supportive, but the way you never seemed to get the same help on missions wasn’t discreet. Maybe they weren’t trying to do it, but you felt helpless when you were left to fend for yourself and wonder whether they even knew if you were still alive. Maybe that’s why you did it.

With a mind running rapid, soon enough, the tears fell — from one side, anyway. The lack of warmth streaming from your right eye was just another reminder of how you weren’t quite enough for them nor yourself.

Your sulking thoughts were interrupted by the gentle footsteps, though heavy, walking nearer in the dark. It was Steve, clear in true way he evenly held his weight even in a tired form at the late hour, the gentle sounds of his steady steps making your heart beat a little faster. Being seen meant questions, questions meant sharing more than you cared for. Though you didn’t see to care for much these days. When the footsteps stopped, you turned your head towards him, seeing the tall man holding his water bottle (what he’d come out for) staring at you with something close to understanding sympathy. You wondered if he could relate to the crippling sense of loss you felt in your own mind, or the anxiety that coursed through your veins as the serum coursed through his. “It’ll be okay, kid,” he murmured softly. Nothing intruding, no prying questions or unwarranted contact. Just — reassurance. It made you want to scream and cry like a child, cling onto him and every other Avenger as though if you let go, they would dissipate into nothingness. But you refrained, sniffing a bit before sending him a strained smile. “Mhm, thanks, Steve,” you replied with a hoarse voice. A hoarse voice that while, sounding exactly like your own, didn’t feel like it belonged to you. Something curated to make you feel whole again, like you were capable of more than you were.

“Get some rest.” You nodded silently, though he couldn’t see you anyway. It probably wouldn’t happen — sleep hadn’t been in your favour the past few weeks — months, even. It was another short moment until his footsteps began again, starting towards his quarters and you heard the door shut. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escaped your lungs. You eyed the digital clock on the wall; it was later than you’d intended to stay out of your room.

So with a heavy heart and heavier eye bags, you stood from the rug in the living room and trudged towards your room — the second on the left on the north hall — to find the solitude you’d left behind with the mandatory team bonding. When you reached your room, a bit messier than you could enjoy, you let out an annoyed breath. The light flicked on with a snap of your fingers, and dimmed automatically with the clock it was on. You spent maybe fifteen minutes organizing the clothes and keepsakes you’d earlier made a mess of, all the while trying to ease the anxiety thrumming beneath your skin.

When it was to your standards once more, slumping down in your chair in exhaustion seemed like the best choice. Your hands — scarred, scratched, shakier than you enjoyed — rested on the cool wood of the desk. Fingers tapped it as you eyed a notebook and pen, debating whether to do that or type out a message to the group chat. You could go for time and convenience or a last piece of sentiment.

The choice wasn’t terribly difficult, grabbing the light pink notebook with more aggression than you meant to convey and flipping to the next section of empty pages. Soon enough the pen was between your fingers, and you couldn’t find any words you wanted to write down — or maybe you couldn’t find the right ones. Because some part of you wanted to say everything, to beg and plead for help and admit everything that was wrong. But you didn’t; not really, anyway.

To Mr. Anthony E. Stark, you began to write, I’m sorry you had to learn the whole story like this, Tony. I have to come clean. For starters, I am choosing to leave the initiative. I hope you find it in you to understand.

You’d filled up two pages with the message to Tony, and had you had it in you to cry, the page probably would have been stained with tears. Then it was nearly a full page to Steve. One and a half to Natasha. Hardly over one to Thor. Peter and Clint both got a little over one and a quarter. Rhodey, Pepper, Strange, Bruce, and Happy all got their own as well. It took at least an hour, if not two. There was paragraphs of cherished memories, apologies, and finally what felt like an admission of guilt in every single one. It didn’t feel right to tell them like this. But when would you tell them if it wasn’t now? They had to learn somehow.

An ache permeated through your chest as you folded each message in half, sticking your signature seal — an origami sticky note heart — on the outside of them all, different colours for each person. You took a couple minutes to think it over anxiously before stacking them neatly on your desk. The next actions were the ones you regretted the most.

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It was a decent hour the next morning when Peter made his way to come wake you, accompanied by Steve. Breakfast had been made and they had a briefing to discuss — but the teens scream of horror was heard by nearly everybody, even Clint. Though the screams were nothing to those they’d heard from you, it made Tony’s blood curdle.

Your body was collapsed on the floor, propped up against the wall with an open eye. Blood was nearly everywhere. A scalpel was discarded towards the side. The throat piece that kept you alive — a bionic trachea, esophagus, and vocal box — had been sliced and torn from your throat, thrown ahead of you. The bionic eye had as well, blood dripping down your cheek and staining the front of your body, leaking on the carpet. The droplets had gone everywhere when you flung the metal chunk ahead of you, spraying on the papers resting on your desk. It was the crime scene nobody deserved to see.

Soon enough everybody had come running to investigate why Peter had screamed and Steve had gone paler than ever before. Tears were flowing soon enough, more screams erupting from people’s throats at the sight. People were ushered out of the room. Someone ran to puke in the nearest bathroom. Tony had come in last, confused and concerned at the commotion. But when he saw you, an open eye staring at him and an unreadable expression on your far more pale face, he could have died then and there. His heart sunk, his stomach twisted, his brain pleading. It wasn’t right. How could this happen?

But even still, nobody could find it in themselves to make it your fault. Because it wasn’t. Maybe the signs were there, maybe it was their fault for not noticing, not helping.

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veteran!resident!reader moodboard in upcoming…

images do not belong to me, credits go to original owners

[ksascriptt]

jack abbot x vet!res!reader teaser, unedited

you hadn’t heard jack opening the door and running towards you, but he was quick to be at your side when he saw you. abbot was far more experienced with PTSD episodes, but he knew you already had underlying anxiety, apparently since you were a kid is what he’d figured out. “hey, hey, can you look at me, kid?” the man spoke softly, gentle enough to ease your reeling brain into the words.

“i’m here. you’re okay,” he consoled you, one arm looping around your back as he fell seated to the ground, resting his prosthetic on the ground with a sigh. his hand gently gripped your wrist and pulled it away from where you had clawed through some of the skin on your collarbone.

in some ways, the touch was grounding, comforting. maybe it was what you needed. but that didn’t suppress the choked sobs that tore through your throat. “i- i don’t.. jack, please-“ you hiccuped out, breathing uneven as you shook next to him.

jack knew better. he didn’t stop you from feeling it, not really, but his presence was a welcome cut through the harshness of the episode and the small touch reminded you of what you had now. a connection they had found quickly, that was real. “it’s alright, honey. you’re gonna be okay. you gotta breathe for me.”

his head rested against the railing, eyeing his watch as the end of your shift quickly approached. your body shook harshly and he had to pinch his eyes shut, hating how someone so young, so kind, could deal with the burden that nobody should have to face. but jack let you feel it there, and he knew you would talk after.

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rlly long rant warning if u don’t wanna read it stop here

hii!! so a few notes. for one, this fic is not quite done yet and has reached nearly 3k words, which for me, is quite a bit. secondly, this has some somewhat dark themes emotionally and will sadly be represented kinda inaccurately. i honestly can’t find the energy to make everything super realistic so im sorry in advance lol. then lastly, because i’m sure some people who have read my avengers fic may ask, ‘why are both readers missing an eye?’ well, that would be because 1. i wanted to and it fits-ish and 2. because its a personal touch i throw in related to my own life!! because i am self indulgent!! (i battled cancer for 6 years and had many eye problems in my right one)

anyway, ty !! sorry for the extra long note at the end

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college athlete!reader moodboard in bleachers and bedside manner

most images are not mine, all credits go to original owners

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reader archetypes

avenger!reader — best found in You’re Gonna Go Far

profiler!reader — best found in Suck It And See

veteran!resident!reader — best found in upcoming…

college athlete!reader — best found in Bleachers and Bedside Manner

dead wife!reader — best found in Too Much To Ask

character archetypes

coming soon !

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Daily reminder that feminism is still relevant. Sexism is still relevant. That crimes against women haven’t gone away and that assults shouldn’t be tolerated, no matter what she was wearing. Or how she looked at him. No doesn’t mean convince me, maybe doesn’t mean yes.

It should not be normalized for sexual assaulters to walk free because ‘they have a future’. Women are humans, and above that we are EQUALS.

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BEGGING for asks and requests. Anything on my master list, and even other stuff. PLEASE

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Guys big trust I’ll probably finish the Hotch series eventually I’m just like… BIG TIME hyperfixated on The Pitt (queue profile change)

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Guys what are the opinions on Dr Abbott w a college athlete reader and maybe some smut if I can figure out how to write it

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Saudade — Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Saudade - (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains" .

Lil tiny angst blurb, unrelated to Sias/tmta but mostly to make sure I don’t give up on righting. 234 words. May or may not have been directly written about my recent breakup — up for debate

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t big on breakups. Really, nobody was. But you? God, you hated them — the self deprecation you felt sinking into your bones was enough to break them all apart.

So when Aaron broke up with you, were you surprised?

The signs were all there for a week. It wasn’t a long-term relationship by any means, four months yesterday and a year and a half of friendship, but it stung. When he slowly stopped talking to you, the hand holding and sweet messages dwindled down, you knew what was coming. You knew that either you had to push him away or cling to him for dear life. You chose the latter.

He’d said, “you obviously like me a lot more than I like you,” and, “you don’t deserve to be in a one sided relationship.” So sweet, really, he’d apologized so many times. And you’d smiled along, nodded and told him you saw it coming. Because, that was the truth; but it was also the truth that you’d already spent the past four nights crying over him and would spend the next two weeks doing so as well.

Every time you saw him, every time you heard his voice even while you two were ignoring each other, you couldn’t help but wonder why you weren’t enough for him, when he was everything to you. Why weren’t you good enough to be loved?

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Chat how would we feel if I wrote yet another Avengers x reader with a Matt Murdock cameo as a love interest, I REALLY wanna write for Matty but also I’ve had this fic planned for like a week and I’m too lazy to plot out another writing thingy

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profiler! reader moodboard in suck it and see

most images don’t belong to me, credits to original owners