#doctor reader

[bakugoushotwife]

born sinner (part one)

pairing: crime boss!suguru geto x fem!surgeon!reader series content: blood, gore, realistic descriptions of surgery but like as accurate as someone with access to google has, angst, slow-burn, eventual smut, anxiety as a heavy theme, no curses!au, violence, guns, gang mentions and typical violence, religious imagery, etc. words: 8.5k a/n: omg omg happy new year! the gojo writer takes on suguru geto!! he's so challenging for me in the best of ways and i hope that his characterization is at least tolerable LMFAO!! i got this amazing idea from a gorgeously detailed outline from @antizenin who trusted me to bring her outline to life. i hope you love it!! part two //

the lights are entirely too bright in the meeting hall. it’s nothing compared to the lights in the OR that illuminate the vessels of a heart as you slice into it—finding the clot that caused the fourty-one year old mother of two to collapse in the middle of making breakfast. you saved her life, you save lives. you’re a cardiothoracic surgeon–and a top one at that, though you spent your residency flirting with general and neurosurgery, you ultimately landed on the heart of it all–literally. it was riveting work. it was satisfying work. you got to play god, holding the lives of everyone that came through the hospital doors in your hands. you got to be the one to repair the tear in their aorta, the one to physically pump their heart with your own grip. it was thrilling. until it wasn’t. until you couldn’t stop the bleeding or make the heart beat again. until being god of the emergency room meant sending some people to the afterlife, and realizing that you are no god. you’re just a woman with a degree and a scalpel and a crippling fear that you don’t know what you’re really doing at all.

that’s what got you here. the clock in front of you is just about the only thing to look at in this section of the hospital. the board meets here—the people that convene to discuss fates. it’s almost comically just that the long hallway before the meeting room was barren and hopeless–only the clock’s hands to tick loudly by in mock of you. 7:55 am. just five more minutes until you went from the god above it all to a simple beggar praying to be spared. you were no different from those you operated on. you’re suddenly very aware of how scratchy and hard your chair is, making you adjust and readjust to try to find some semblance of comfort in the last five minutes before judgment day. as a surgeon, you know just how out of whack your vitals are. as someone with a diazepam prescription, you know exactly what’s causing it, regardless of the MD at the end of your last name. shit, you forgot to take your pills again this morning—

there’s a faint sound of heels clicking against the cold tile floor in conjunction with the loud clunk, clunk, ding dong ding! of the clock that signals the top of the hour. it’s time. the secretary calls your name as if you’re not the only person waiting out here, and you nod without meeting her eyes. you know without lifting your gaze that hers is judgmental–like everyone’s lately. 

the problem with being god is that you can’t make mistakes without feeling the wrath of the people that once loved you and championed your name.

millions of thoughts race inside your head simultaneously: if you can’t handle the hardening stare of a measly secretary, how on earth would you be able to function under the eyes of the council, the real gods amongst men. they have the authority to revoke your license if you don’t figure out how to answer to them. the one case, the one incident, the one person’s life that ended because of your inability to handle such racing thoughts drives you to clutch at your chest now as you rise from your chair, back aching. 

“right this way.” she says without another glance, and you’re thankful for that reprieve. she turns, loud heels click clacking their way back down the hall at the same pace of your hammering heart. you love being a surgeon. you can’t lose that. you have to fight for it. saving lives is important to you! you just have to convey this. it’s not hard. swallow your fear and finally fight for something you want, put one foot in front of the other, you tell yourself. breathe in and breathe out—you have to get your sinus rhythm back to normal if you have any hope of getting through this. but it’s so hard when all your senses lie to you like this, the clock’s ticks still rattling across your brain—the long and dark hallway only stretching to be longer and darker before you. you know it’s impossible–just your mind playing tricks. or, more aptly, part of you knows that. but the other part starts to break out in a cold sweat once you finally approach the door. on the other side of the heavy oak were the group of people who would decide what your life was worth: do you get to stay a god amongst men, or will you be cast out like the devil himself? 

you can hear the different voices speaking in low whispers before the secretary has even pushed into the room. you know they must be speaking about you from the way their eyes dart all over your timid form in front of them as they shuffle their papers—reports of every mistake and triumph you’ve ever had laid out in front of them, reducing you to a datapoint. it’s a medical license hearing, but you feel like a freshly hit opossum standing before the vultures just waiting to pick your bones clean. maybe being roadkill was more freeing than this. 

this room is much darker than the lobby you waited in, dimly lit by reading lamps positioned to the right of each panelist–five total. three men and two women would decide if your mistake was enough to ruin your career. their desk towered above you, so much so you had to tilt your chin back to be able to take in their disgruntled, disappointed, and disapproving stares. your saliva feels like liquid cement when you go to swallow it down—though it tastes like bile.  

“good morning doctor.” the man on the furthest right says. he has the kindest eyes of them all, though your brain catches his deception. he’s just acting. the other panelists give you tight lipped smiles of greeting and head nods of acknowledgement. you clear your throat a little and give them a bow. 

“good morning, board of internal medicine. i’ve…prepared a statement?” you clench your jaw at the shakiness you can hear in your voice. it’s the older of the two women that nod at you this time. 

“you may present it.” she says, a drawn-on eyebrow raised expectantly. you swallow down that bile-cement flavored spit again, training your eyes on a hairline crack in the tile under your toe. it’s fitting. as time passes, this crack will widen and cause that tile to erode and crumble away. this meeting could be the crack in your foundation. the decision made here today could be the first domino of events to ruin the picture perfect life you’ve carefully put into place. 

“..hiroshi nakamura entered the emergency room on november twenty-third at 4:57 pm. he was suffering from an aortic aneurysm. as many of you are former surgeons yourselves, i know you’re familiar with the diagnosis. many of these go unnoticed. symptomatic pain is brushed off, and many times it’s too late to save them, the silent killer.” you shift your weight, doing your best to maintain eye contact despite the haunting memory. “nakamura-san was a patient of mine previously. he was diagnosed with arteriosclerosis three years prior, the exact date escapes me. it was in the summertime. july maybe. later that day i performed an endarterectomy to reduce the atheromatous plaque in his carotid artery. we kept him for the next three days for observation, his vitals improved and he was discharged with instructions to receive regular checkups. when he was brought back in…i knew immediately that the buildup must have returned, making it harder for blood to travel until it turned into a clot. when i opened him up, his pressure started dropping. he had an aortic dissection, which i’ve run into many times. but the size of nakamura-san’s was significant. i hesitated, deciding between a graft or a stent for treatment. i took too long to choose, and nakamura-san…bled out on the operating table.” you grimace, looking down at that cracked tile again. the line was shaped like a lightning bolt, its jagged curve leading straight under your shoe. you can feel your chest tighten, so you close your eyes and try to push back against the wave of emotion sitting in your throat. “i had to tell nakamura-san’s family what happened. his wife of forty years, his thirty-four year old son, thirty year old daughter, and twenty-eight year old son as well as his young grandchildren. i’ll never forget what my mistake has done to their lives, and i believe it is punishment enough.” 

you step back once you’ve finished speaking, heart still hammering away in your chest. the members of the board nod, seemingly unaffected by your words. the man in the middle of the massive mahogany table picks up his stack of papers, licking his forefinger before flipping through them. “how long have you been prescribed diazepam, doctor?” 

your blood stills. your anxiety was clearly well documented, and you knew it would be on their list of questions. “since i was a teenager, sixteen i believe.” 

he hums, eyes focused on the paper before him. “and how would you say it helps you manage your generalized anxiety disorder?” 

you would do anything for that ticking clock right about now, for this room is so quiet you swore they could hear your thoughts. “it helps considerably. i’ve stayed on it for over ten years now.”

“your prescription history is spotty. were you trying alternative therapies?” the younger woman asks, manicured red nails clutching your entire life between them via vulturous paper reports. 

you open your mouth to answer–no, argue–but realize that won’t help you anymore than the truth will. “no. i…had not.” 

she raises her brow just like the other woman did, except her eyebrow was real and also well taken care of. “so what happened? it seems like you’ve forgotten to pick up your medicine three times this year—one of which was during nakamura-san’s surgery?” you are a cardiothoracic surgeon, one that was considered proficient enough to pick her specialty. you are no fool. you can see the trap she’s laid before you even unmedicated. 

this is the end. all because of your busy schedule and long hours at the hospital. sometimes you missed pharmacy hours, other times you just forgot about it altogether, mind racing with diagnoses and cases that wait for you the next day. but that won’t matter now, you can feel it before you even answer. they knew what they were going to do before you ever walked in this room. “my business hours are usually reserved for saving lives at this hospital. sometimes i’m not able to make it to pickup.” 

“how long until your death toll matches that of your successes, doctor?” the final man at the left asks, punctuating their line of questioning. he shuffles the edges of his papers against the flat top he sits behind. “i think our decision has been reached. you’re no longer licensed to operate in this hospital or any other, effective immediately. take your medicine.” 

he has his doubts, but he supposes that is his nature. it feels strange to organize a meeting between two warring sides, hoping for a somewhat amicable and fortuitous outcome. hope is a foreign concept in this world, in suguru geto’s reality. he runs the west side of tokyo—keeping businesses running and funding local projects as well as controlling the streets with his biggest means of profit—guns for hire. he was a local historic monument. a ghost–everyone knew of him but pretended not to. everyone from bar owners to bakeries, lawyers and school teachers alike all under his influence, his pulse on the town. that’s how he knew the rival eastside head planned to make a move on his territory, and he’s been able to orchestrate a negotiation between them based on the opinion of his mentor and right hand man. 

traditionally, suguru would eliminate his problem at the source. there’s no need to play politics when you make your own rules. but he trusts wholly in his sacred few, the ones who have been with him since the beginning of his reign, and even before then. suguru’s best friend, satoru gojo was his best assassin and loudest mouth. choso kamo was a younger pup, but loyal and hardworking—very protective. and then there was toji fushiguro, the most valued of all. he’s shown suguru the ropes of this industry while still respecting and protecting him. geto entrusts his life to toji. if the man believes a meeting would be wise, then they’ll have the meeting. 

besides, there was no arguing with his logic. if they were able to pull this off, then his men will have free reign in the east, able to expand their territory into shinjuku, and have a working alliance with their only competition. so why was he having second thoughts? he blames satoru and his creepy blue eyes staring at him in the mirror he’s checking himself over in. 

“do you not trust me?” he asks the other man, tugging the top half of his too-long black hair into a neat knot. it reveals the long dragon tattoo that creeps up his neck, eyes glowing with anger at whoever looked. his own golden eyes flicker with unease as they survey the only person in the room. suguru hated how opinionated satoru could be at times, and valued it in others. though he usually didn’t know which way he felt until after the fact. 

the arctic-haired boy scoffed, kicking himself into stride from his previous position leaning against the wall. “oh i trust you. i just think it’s weird. i mean–toji’s so gung-ho, let’s slaughter ‘em all, and now we’re supposed to believe he’s become a diplomat?”

“i didn’t know you knew what diplomat meant.” suguru comments drily, sidestepping his friend’s critique of their teacher.

satoru shoves his round sunglasses back up his nose to conceal his eye roll. suguru was technically his boss—though he could get away with more than most. “hey, you asked. i just…have a bad feeling about this.” he shrugs–a knock at geto’s door causing both men to go on high alert immediately. satoru reaches for his weapon, always expecting an ambush. such is this way of life. 

“geto–sama, the car is ready.” the driver says from the other side of the wood, and satoru relaxes at the realization that it was just ijichi–a man so weak and cowardly that an ambush at his hands would be impossible. suguru releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding onto. he fastens the final button on his shirt, glancing over himself in the mirror once again. he wanted to appear polished and professional in his all black attire—and it worked. he seemed larger than life and as intimidating as ever. 

“perfect. i should get going.” he nods to his best friend–who, due to his abrasive and blunt nature, will not be attending this meeting. suguru adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, strapping his guns to his torso and giving satoru a tight lipped smile. the latter gets the door for him, mockingly saluting. 

“i’ll hold down the fort until you get back, boss!” he chirps, nodding to ijichi before making his way back to the data room. 

toji meets them in the car. it’s a bulletproof black bronco, a fitting vehicle to cart around a high-profile crime boss. suguru’s confidence is bolstered at the sight of his most trusted companion, and he genuinely smiles as he ducks into the backseat with him. 

“hey kid, big day.” the older man says gruffly, his gravelly voice making it sound like he were sixty years his senior instead of a mere fifteen. suguru was no child, and didn’t appear to be one either. the twenty-eight year old man towered over six feet, thick with muscle and riddled with scars of experience, but to toji—suguru was a helpless kitten. 

suguru hums, eyes already scanning for potential danger as the car rolls out of the garage. “big day indeed. you’ve spoken to him already this morning?”

toji claps his broad hand down on suguru’s even broader shoulder, chuckling. “we wouldn’t be headin’ out if i hadn’t. sukuna��s ready for us.” he assures, noting how strong and steady suguru looked. toji was proud, geto has grown quite bit from the scrappy little boy he once was. if he was nervous, he was keeping that close to his chest. 

“good. i think he’ll find my proposal beneficial for us both.” he nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. sukuna’s crew mostly pushed petty crime and even pettier drugs—suguru’s bunch could elevate their product and offer more riches for the notoriously greedy ‘cursed king’ ryomen sukuna. 

toji snorts a little, amused by his arrogance. “let’s hope so.” he nods, checking the rearview and windows before they fall into silence. 

the ride is smooth due to the expensive tires and ijichi’s careful nature, leaving geto plenty of peace and quiet to brainstorm all of the ways this could go down. he’s doing a genuine good for japan–sure, he has to break a few laws to do it, but the people of tokyo—well, his half anyway—are prospering. he hopes that even the arrogant man that ryomen is can see what banding together would do for them both. then, it could be just a matter of time before he can branch out into the rest of japan. 

there’s that word again. hope. he feels silly each time he catches himself using it. it’s akin to faith to him. something ideal in entirety, hardly true to the touch. he only believes in what he can see–things like optimism and god are lost on him, they are only fantasies. 

“ijichi! watch the right side—” toji commands gruffly, sitting up straighter in his seat to get a better look. suguru is grounded with a shot of adrenaline, leaning over to peer at the black suv hot on their tails. this highway is busy—civilians in their own cars without a clue in the world littered all over the roads at various speeds. it could be nothing–except geto knows better than to hope that the tinted windows on the car were meant to block out the sun instead of concealing identities. the large suv switches into the left lane, speeding up to catch them. “idiot! step on it!” he calls, and suguru draws one of his guns to be prepared ahead of time, a lesson he learned from the man sitting to his right. 

“is it one of sukuna’s?” he asks aloud, cocking his .45 as the first shots ring out from the vehicle beside them. they bounce right off his armored car, but one knicks the tire. geto curses under his breath, cracking the window enough to pop off a few returning shots of his own. the cadillac is impenetrable too–though he had hoped to flatten one of their tires in return or even get one under the hood. 

ijichi starts to lose control on the vehicle as the tire blows—just the metal rim scraping against the concrete with a deafening hiss. the bronco starts to fishtail, the car beside them only furthering the inevitable by nudging the rear quarter panel into the median ahead. “i’m losing it! we’re gonna flip!” ijichi cries out in panic, prompting suguru’s eyes to widen. 

there’s a loud crunch of metal on concrete before they’re airborne. geto feels a sense of finality wash over him as they turn, his seatbelt the only thing keeping him from breaking his neck. there’s another gross sounding scrape of the driver’s side scraping on the road briefly before they rotate again—heartbeat erratic. this is it. all of his hard work would end in a fiery car accident. he can’t even feel it as his head bounces off the window, only thinking about how satoru was right. he should have appreciated his friend more—he’s probably the only person who will mourn him when he’s gone. the roof caves in when they fall onto it this time, shrapnel scratching his face and making him realize they had stopped. they’re on their back–he’s hanging upside down, but he’s alive. he can smell oil and gas and the inevitable smell of fire, so his numb fingers fumble for the seatbelt’s release button. the car alarms are going off—and he knows if he doesn’t get out soon, the relief of being alive won’t even have time to sink in before it’s ripped away again. he looks around the car—toji’s door ripped off in the accident and his body nowhere to be seen. 

“goddammit–” he growls, clicking the button on his seatbelt over and over, unable to get free. there’s a million alarms going off—the car’s sensors, the airbags, the bitter hum of gunshots ringing in his ears still, maybe even faint police sirens heading this way. none as loud as the one in his head telling him that he had to get out soon–fighting until the button finally releases him and he lands with a thud on the sunroof portion of the now mangled bronco. he crawls toward the only exit, toji’s exit, grimacing at the sickening sound of crunching glass digging into his side as he drags himself through it. he thought dying would be more peaceful—that he would be ready for it, even if he hadn’t finished his work yet. in this business, there is no tomorrow, yet he found himself fighting for one. this wouldn’t be the end of him, some sort of voice in the back of his head told him so. it wasn’t his own, in fact he didn’t recognize it—but it made him take the pain and push forward, out of the car and onto the street beside. 

the sunset would be prettier under better circumstances, but he’s grateful to see it irregardless. his head hurts, and he can’t look around as fast as he wants to without getting dizzy, that ringing deafening his senses. he sees the cadillac–still on the scene– with a group of men huddled outside of it talking. 

he sputters out a cough, clearing his lungs of some of the debris he’s inhaled. it catches their attention—and all geto can process is a pair of dark boots stomping over rubber scraps and glass shards until they’re inches from his face and the legs attached are squatting down to get a better look at him. 

“eh, shoulda known you’d survive it if i did.” he grumbles, a voice so unmistakable suguru’s blood stills in his veins. the sole of the man’s boot shoves into suguru’s shoulder, kicking him to his back. “you trust too much kid. why would sukuna negotiate when he could just take from you instead? shame. you coulda been great.” he says, fumbling behind his back for a 9mm piece, the sobering click of the safety and familiar cock of the gun clearing out all the other noises. geto’s too devastated to speak—though he knows there’s nothing he could say. he lived through the accident just to die with the truth: his mentor betrayed him. 

bang!

getting shot doesn’t feel like you think it does. it’s white hot and instant, a blistering intensity that tells you you're dying. suguru’s hand flies to cover the damage to his chest, eyes wide in disbelief still. he must have already died and gone to hell. he can’t hear anything now but the ringing of the gun and toji’s sigh. 

“meh–just to be sure.” toji yawns, scratching his head with the barrel before turning it back to suguru’s chest. 

bang!

it hurts to breathe, but he has to gasp for air either way—bleeding out on the pavement below. the ringing in his ears is replaced by tires spinning out—signifying that the rival crew had left before the cops could arrive. suguru holds his crimson soaked hand up above his face, clenching his jaw. the pain was hitting him in waves, the clawing feeling of glass embedded in his skin mixed with the burn of being shot, the inability to take a deep breath and his growing weakness, he really was dying this time. 

no. 

that voice again. he’s annoyed by it, but intrigued. why? why not give up? he asks himself, coughing despite the excruciating pain it puts him in and the wetness that seeps out of his mouth—something even he knows is blood. 

there’s so much life to live. fight. revenge, love. there’s more for you. 

he stares up at the pale outline of the moon hanging in the sky, growing brighter as the sky darkened. revenge. that was something he’d like to see. he didn’t know about the rest of it–but was confused by this…guardian angel of his. is this god? he was a born sinner—far away from anything holy. this must be an imagination of his—yet it was motivating enough to get him to move again. they wrecked just outside of harajuku. he knew of a dive bar under his business portfolio that he could try to get to–he could hang on until satoru found him and got him to the hospital, though that was a whole new set of problems. he had to get moving, the ringing of sirens getting closer by the second. 

his vision is blackening and he doesn’t even know how close he is to the bar. his breathing is ragged, everything screaming and aching, body telling him to give up but that voice urging him to keep going. night has settled in fully by now, and he’s thankful for that cover. this area of town is avoided by anyone with good intentions, hence its emptiness at this hour. it couldn’t be too late, 8 pm at the latest, but the only traffic moving through this district are giggly college students and no good drug pushers meeting up with customers in the dark. but it’s reassuring to him, it means he’s getting closer. that’s when the reminiscing hits him. he’s able to see some bright flashing lights—a telltale sign that the bar was just ahead. the shelter of the alleyway gives him some reprieve. maybe if he stops just stopped for a second to catch his breath he’d be able to get to his feet and walk inside, or just getting a phone call in would be enough to save him. he thinks about satoru, how he’d come running as soon as he picked up the phone all while cursing him out for not listening to his warnings sooner. he feels embarrassed that the only person he has to think about is his sarcastic best friend, left to wonder if things would be better or worse if he had a family to think about instead. the last thing he thinks about is that mysterious voice calling out to him to stay awake—but his body is done fighting. all is black. 

what better way to end the worst day of your life than getting shitty at the shittiest bar in town? there were probably lots of better options, like conserving your money since you didn’t know where your next source of income would stream from—but that was tomorrow’s problem. tonight’s problem was drinking your sorrows away next to the attractive man buying all your drinks. he was tall and his hair was spiky to look at but you knew it would be soft to the touch–or maybe that’s the vodka talking. his smile was more akin to a smirk rather than a genuine grin. he was trouble. but trouble was buying, so you’d keep batting you lashes and whining about your sorrows so the shots kept coming. the top-shelf vodka the man offers each time is working to its desired effect, numbing the ache in your heart and the bickering thoughts in your brain. it almost cloaks the mildew scent in the air—rose-colored glasses making the nasty blue carpet and hideous wood paneled walls of the bar look like a dream come true. you finally feel light. you almost forget about the man eyeing you like a predator in wait to your left, consciousness floating high in the clouds. 

you used to hate drinking. as a surgeon, you need a clear mind at all times. who knew when you’d be called in for an emergency case. well, needed. plus, you’ve always been an angry drunk, overly emotional and yelling constantly. it wasn’t a pleasant sight. not to mention the hangovers, ugh—your long-term psyche had always beaten out the short-term pleasure, but tonight you owed it to yourself to feel as bas as possible tomorrow. that’s why the clouds clear—your light-hearted joy short-lived as the bartender slides you another shot before muttering. 

“that’s your last one, doctor.” he tilts his head down, used to serving your fellow surgeon friends when you did have a well-timed night off, though he’s never seen you drunk as the most responsible member of your group, you were always designated driver. not anymore, you’d be lucky to get a text back from any of them now that you were disbarred. maybe that’s what actually makes you mad instead of being cut off. it’s the realization of all the things you’ve really lost–-including the right to drown your sorrows out with a swollen liver. 

“what the fuck?? and i know ya heard me talkin’...not a doctor anymore!! so let me have my vodka, i deserve it!” you whine, stretching your upper body over the scratched and chipped wooden bar keeping you from jumping across at his dumb stupid fat neck—

“no can do, miss. you’re over served as is, ‘s my job on the line.” he shakes his head, eyeing the man next to you to get you under control, assuming he knew you better than a few hours of tipsy talking. you scoff at his insinuations–both that you’re too drunk to handle yourself and that this wallet has any sway over your motor-mouth. 

“don’t look at him—fucking look at me! i’ll kick your goddamn ass, you know that?” you’re fuming. this is the proverbial straw that broke the hypothetical camel’s back. after the day you’ve had, you’re surprised it took this much to get you this rowdy. how much was one person meant to take anyways? venting out your anger would help you plenty, you think to yourself as you lift your knee up, prepared to crawl over that wooden plank saving that man’s life. 

“security!! come get ‘er. she’s wasted.” he scoffs, taking your shot away and making your blood boil even more. “they’ll get an uber for ya. take it easy, doc.” he shakes his head, making you feel remarkably judged all of a sudden, every eye in the place was on you as a guard even bigger than the man next to you drags you off the bar as carefully as he can. you don’t make it easy, kicking and screaming out despite the burning sensation in your cheeks.

“you’re scared of a girl? that’s fucking embarrassing!” you bellow to cloak your own, getting tossed on your feet gently— outside of the dingy building. 

“come on, little lady. let’s get you a ride home.” the security guard says, another one of them making their way outside as some sort of backup–like you were some genuine threat. you scoff, folding your arms. 

“fuck off—don’t need your shitty help, i’ll get home on my own!” you kick his shin, throwing your hair over your shoulder before marching off into the dead of night. 

in one of the worst parts of town. 

the cold shocks you awake, the fear putting you on edge and pushing back the drunkenness that fought so hard to claim you. every rustle of the bushes, each twig snapping has your head on a swivel. you just need to make it to your car, though it was daytime when you foolishly parked it a few doors down to avoid the traffic of drunk people leaving later in the evening. you’ve already made half the distance, the connecting alleyway just up ahead. 

you don’t make it two hundred feet before everything hits you again—and you’re bawling at your own stupidity. you should have made time to pick up your pills. you wouldn’t have to be worried about being kidnapped or murdered in the middle of the night if you had just taken your medicine. your life if over—and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself. you’re a mess. you’re nearly gasping for breath already—the dark alley mocks you with long shadows reflecting from the moon and stray cats that hop out of the dumpster just to make you fear the worst. you wipe at your cheeks, desperately sniffling to try to regain your senses, eyes aching from the downpour. you’re constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not being followed, entirely too focused on what’s behind you to notice the log in front of you—you’re sent flying over it and towards the pavement. luckily you take the impact on your shoulder, nothing more than a shocked, “ow–” leaving your lips before you realize you’re not hurt at all thanks to your coat absorbing the brunt of it.

it’s just another strike of your famous luck then, something annoying enough to inconvenience you on a day chock full of them, but not enough to take you down. you push to your hands and knees, looking back towards the offending log—only to realize it’s breathing and has long dark hair strewn about its head. you gasp–the fog muddying up your senses clearing instantly at the realization that this was no log, but some severely injured man! you can hear his struggling breaths, springing into action immediately. it’s nearly second nature to you as you push his hair out of his face and away from his neck. it’s much too dark for you to make out specifics–but his chin shines with something you can only imagine is blood, the same wet liquid pooling in front of his torso, the man laying on his side in an almost fetal position.  

“sir–can you hear me?” you try, placing your fingers where his heartbeat should be. it’s weak and much too slow, but it’s there. you can save him. “sir what happened to you? what’s your name?” you ask loudly, trying to get him to wake up. you groan when he doesn’t respond, blindly fumbling around for the wounds. your heart is racing, any slowness from the alcohol was killed by the adrenaline consuming you now. you gasp out again when you feel glass shards and bullet holes, a good fifteen minutes away from home even if you step on it. you’re not sure if this man has fifteen minutes left in him—the reasonable part of your brain telling you to call the emergency line to get him helped. though, they’d take just as long to show up despite how serious his wounds are. “you’re gonna have to help me a little, big guy.” you groan even louder, trying to put him on his back. it would jostle him less and was the only shot you had at getting a man of his size back to your vehicle on your own. 

you swear you hear him chuckle, but perhaps you were still a bit tipsy. you grab his hands, trying to be careful of the one riddled with glass, situating them in your own at the best leverage point. you’re strong—you can do this. you need to feel useful again–and this man needs to be saved. he’s so heavy, nothing but dead weight as you tug him along behind you. you have to bend a little and pray that your legs can make it to your car, just a final push to get to safety. 

you’re grateful when you see your mom-mobile waiting for you. this was your ambulance, and you were running out of time and the strength to keep pulling, gnawing nervously on your lip. what if he died anyway? what if you couldn’t save him at all, and were only chasing highs you’d never feel again? 

no. you’re skilled. if you couldn’t save this man then… the truth was that no one could. so determination overrides your anxiety for the time being, and you pop the trunk of your sporty suv, looking down at the man with a heart sigh. “okay–i can do it. what are ya, 200, 220?” you muse, squatting down and fixing him over your shoulders as best you could—a fireman’s carry of sorts. your hips and thighs should support you more than your exhausted arms, so you heave up with a strangled grunt. you throw him in a little harder than intended, grimacing. “sorry!” you huff, circling to your driver’s side. at least he’s in, even if your arms are jello and you know you’ll have to get him in the house somehow. you aren’t even thinking about how his blood will stain your tan interior—the rush of saving a life quieting any background noise in your mind. “you gotta hang in there. hang in there, please.” you mumble, weaving through traffic. 

you back up as close to your garage as possible, trying to think ahead for anything that could make this easier on yourself. you throw the car in park, hurrying to get him out of the back. he’s running out of time, and a surgical god you may be–but there’s only so many miracles you can call in. you get him in the same hold from earlier yet you let his feet touch the ground, muscles burning at the exercise. you have to breathe in short bursts, crushed by his heaviness, adrenaline helping you accomplish something you normally wouldn’t be capable of. you stumble with him, still half dragging him. it’s a battle you’re worried you might lose, but you get him on your dining room table, splayed out like a gurney. then you’re prepping your OR, getting the lights on, all the tools and dressings you would need, and most importantly—scrubbing in. infection would kill him if you weren’t careful now. 

“you stumbled into the right hands, mister. or well…i guess i stumbled over you–but you get the point.” you roll your eyes at yourself and glove up, stretching the vinyl over your fingers and flexing them, all part of your pre-op routine. you get your first good look at him then. he’s terribly hurt, it really is even worse than you thought. bullet holes and all this blunt trauma–he must have endured something horrific. but beneath all the bruising marring his olive skin, you can tell that he’s a beautiful man. his inky hair gleams under your bright dining room lights, somehow looking silky despite the tangles bunched up throughout the mane. you sigh, turning your attention to the blood soaked shirt he had on–two perfectly round entrance piercing his front, but no exit wounds. in his case, it was probably saving his life, those bullets possibly lodged in important arteries—scary, but better than bleeding out. he’s already lost quite a bit of blood–and it’s not like you have any history on him to know what type he is. there’s no time to worry about tests–you’d have to get your emergency stash of o negative. it was universal–your own blood that you kept on hand in case of the worst. it looks like this is it. you flawlessly install the iv, watching the slow stream shoot through the clear iv catheter and into his body. it helps with his paleness after a few minutes, and you smile in relief. this was a good sign. you rip his shirt with the last remaining strength you’ve got left, buttons flying to expose extremely bruised ribs and those gaping bullet wounds. “this isn’t gonna feel great, i’m sorry.” you grab your cheap bottle of house vodka, taking another shot from it to steady your nerves before pouring a decent amount over his chest. “i have to get in here—i’m happy you can’t feel it–now, anyway.” you take a deep breath and reach for your scalpel. you decide to perform a sternotomy—cutting between his breast plate to the web of arteries beneath. “i can see the bullets. you’re gonna make it.” you whisper, more encouragement for yourself than for him. your retractors keep his chest open for you wide enough for you to get your forceps in, aiming to pull out a bullet out of a vein close to his heart. “it missed the aorta. you’re actually really lucky.” you chuckle humorlessly.

you wedge your forceps in and take a deep breath. it’s not the aorta, but it will spew blood anyway. “not my preferred method of grafting—no catheters here but. i gotta fix it somehow.” you growl a little in annoyance. you have to squint and move slowly, but you’re able to repair the first leak with a shifty little graft. you’re onto the next one, dropping the offending metal into a bowl—complete with a little clink. “we’ll get you to the hospital just to check my work, yeah?” you sigh, hoping that this would be good enough to save his life. your hands steady over the second bullet, and you repeat the same motions as before. you’re relieved at the sight of his heart literally beating underneath your working hands, knowing that he’s still fighting for his life. you remove the second one and get out of his body—sewing up his chest, letting the blood bag refill his own supply until the bag is drained. you push some saline to clean out the line before hanging a bag of morphine, the pain this mystery man would wake up to would be excruciating. 

once you’re done with the intense life-saving measures, you sit in a chair to pluck the glass from his skin and apply ointments to the road rash on his face and arms. it takes another hour or so of work, but you don’t mind. it’s strangely relaxing to feel like you’re doing your job, and it’s so rewarding when you check his pulse every ten minutes to find it getting stronger and stronger. you hate that you hadn’t invested in a stat monitor, having to check his blood pressure the old fashioned way, but that looked like it was perking up too. you grin, proud of yourself. losing your license didn’t mean you lost your touch. you decide to get the glass and rubble out of his hair, pulling it back away from his face for a second time tonight. you take another lengthy look at the man you’ve saved, still grimacing at the ugly bruises and scrapes when something else catches your eye. the man had several tattoos that seemed unremarkable at first, different dark lines tangling into patterns you didn’t recognize. but the dragon creeping from his collarbone to peek over the collar of his shirt—it’s a yakuza trademark. this man wasn’t a poor soul caught up in a tragic accident—this was a dangerous man. you just saved the life of a war-monger, countless lives ended due to his line of work. part of you wants to open his chest back up and make your grafts fail—but the other part of you wants to feel the success course through your veins when he wakes up. besides, what makes a surgeon and what makes a gang lackey? is it a good childhood? morals? options? who’s to say this man had killed anyone? god knows you wouldn’t want to be judged based off of a few sneak peeks. you sigh, piddling off to your room to get him some new clothes. 

it’s invasive, changing a stranger. but you’re at fifth base already right? saving his life gave you a get out of jail free card, even if he was in the most dangerous crime syndicate in japan. you get his matted jeans off, making yourself look up at the ceiling in modesty and respect. you shimmy the plaid pajama pants up his body–thankful that your ex never came back for his stuff. you decide against wrestling a shirt around all the bandages on his arms and chest—knowing you could hurt him just as much as you’ve helped. you decide to try your luck one last time, pushing your table the short distance to your living room to let him rest on something more comfortable than the cold marble slab. it’s an easy shove to get him onto the couch, and you finally take a deep breath and sigh it all out. success is sweet–surgery is exhausting. you pull a little blanket over him, setting hourly alarms to check on your patient until he wakes. 

he wakes up to the smell of something cooking. the light pouring in from the curtain makes him squint–definitely a sharp adjustment from the darkness that consumed him before. he hears a woman humming a few rooms away, only furthering his confusion. he didn’t die? but how…he didn’t call anyone, and he knows no one in that area would willingly bring the sirens in to help him–and where exactly was he? all of these things hit him at once, but nothing harder than the deep ache in his bones. he couldn’t describe it, something so sharp and throbbing he could hardly get his body to obey his mind’s orders to move. 

sitting up is pure hell. every red flag and stop sign goes off, making him grunt in agony. but he knows he has to get going–get out of whatever trap he’s got himself into. he doesn’t recognize the room–for all he knows, sukuna’s men followed him and have him here to torture. 

but that woman’s voice, he knows it. that doesn’t mean this isn’t a trap still. the humming stops, and footsteps pad closer until a bright face pokes into the room, an ‘o’ shape forming on her face before she enters–complete with a plate of food. 

“you’re awake–” you gasp in surprise. you had just come to do your rounds, deciding that eating with him would help you better watch out. you weren’t expecting him to already be up and at ‘em, he must be very strong. though you still notice how rigid he’s holding himself. “you really should lie down, you…” he cranes his sore neck, flashing you a glimpse of that black ink. you suddenly remember just how dangerous he is, and he looks like a dog backed into a corner, narrow black eyes sizing you up—distrust all over his feline features. 

“who do you work for?” he tilts his head to one side, and your brows furrow in confusion, oh–he was worried you worked for a rival. you shake your head, eager to defend yourself. 

“n-no one, no one right now!” you blurt out, anxiously shifting your weight foot to foot. you look down at the breakfast in your hands, holding it out for him to take instead. “here! eat, as a sign of my goodwill.” 

he analyzes the plate, then looks back up at you–peacocking his shoulders back and hissing at the pain the stretch brought him. now you know just how weak he is—and he can’t make another target out of himself. “i hope you know i will have you killed if you’re lying.” 

despite the way his glare makes your skin crawl and the hair at the base of your neck stand up, you can’t help but laugh at that. “i wouldn’t lie. i saved your life, why would i waste my time?” you shove the plate out further, basically putting it in his hands–one still heavily bandaged from dragging himself through the wreckage. 

he takes the plate from you. if he’s shocked by that, he doesn’t show it. he only watches you as he eats your food, grunting in pain every so often. you took the iv out while he slept, not sure how he’d react when he woke up to wires. “i uh…i have medicine…for the pain.” 

“who are you?” he returns without a second passing. he takes another reluctant bite of food, stomach growling in thanks. 

you tell him your name, stealing a few glances at the heavy furrow of his brow. “you were badly hurt. i am a doctor..so i helped repair what i could. you should recover. i imagine you need to lay low?” you ask with a raised brow, betraying your intellect. he knows you must have some idea of who he is. “you can stay here as long as you need. you might want to shower–but you’ll…probably need some help.” 

his expression shifts before your very eyes. his clenched jaw and steel brow relaxes into a soft look of…gratitude? truthfully, he was baffled. a doctor stumbled upon him, realized that he’s a criminal, saved him anyway—and now offers her home? he almost worries about how naive you really must be—but he owes you a debt he can never repay. you have given him a second chance—made revenge possible when he had given up completely. “thank you, little ebi. i will take up your gracious offer.” he nods, smiling kindly. 

you smile, heart going awol inside your chest. it was the right thing to do, he was injured and needed to be cared for. you’re a doctor who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands. it means nothing–but that you still have empathy left in you. you know you’re close to shaking, but you turn to leave before it can show. “i’ll grab you a change of clothes. don’t move too much until i get back.” you hum, and he hums in acknowledgement. 

he’s rather polite for a yakuza, his refined calmness even in the most dire of situations rubs off on you easily—you hold your head high as you pilfer through the tote of clothes your ex left behind, trying to find something for the big scary man in the living room. you finally decide on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. you even nab some of those painkillers you offered earlier, hoping to ease that stiffness he carries himself with to mask his suffering. 

but when you get back to the living room the only thing waiting for you is the empty breakfast plate and a few hundred dollar bills—your curtains blowing in the harsh wind. your heart sinks for an unknown reason, and you tell yourself it’s because your patient wasn’t dressed for the cold.

#jjk x reader #kyleewritesjjk #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #jjk geto #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto x reader #crime boss geto! #doctor reader #fem!reader #jjk x fem!reader

[the-entitie]

All I can imagine is a reader who lives in a continent full of monsters.

One of the only humans there, or well. Human adjacent.

You make some of your money by being a health care worker for the monsters here, not a healer per say but the closest thing to one any of them can get. You're the go-to for cuts, scrapes, bruises, and dislocated limbs. Even for the more, not human side of the residents.

There's nowhere else to go. It's you or deal with it alone.

You learn their stories, or their scars, even the trauma they have to carry. Like the deep forest Naga, whose flares dull when the clouds start to gather. Or the lycanthop who couwers at any loud sound. You are the only one the youkai trusted to help.

That's not the only way you make your money to keep the medical office stocked.

Many of the creatures or monsters can "shed" certain parts. Like the vampire's teeth, they shed those fangs neat yearly, or the avians, the false angles, who mault. But other times, when things like corpses or amputations are a must to hold. You can use those parts, too.

What did those human rulers who exiled you expect?

That a mortician would just be happy to sit down and watch the people around them fumble with basic injuries and watch those small little cuts fester and rot, let alone the major injuries that come about.

You had a fucking medical and veterinary doctorate so you where going to use it.

If that means dismantling the dead or selling off the things you don't keep for study or as trinkets to keep that medical practice open?

Then gladly.

#oc x reader #x reader #i would love to have a series with each kind of monster #monster x reader #monster oc #doctor reader #mortician reader #x male reader #authors_notes #wip.txt #ill ask my lovely artist irl friend to draw some of the oc. hope they dont mind.

[florrysgf]

LOOK AT ME! alex karev x fem!reader

SUMMARY: in which you struggle after the loss of a patient, and alex is there to calm you down

WARNINGS: panic attack, grief, mentions of death

WORD COUNT: 0.8k +

The moment you heard the machine flatline, you swore you felt your heart in your throat. You also felt the sweat dripping down your brow as you immediately shook your head, locking your hands and starting compressions on the patients chest. You couldn’t lose her, you just couldn’t. She had four kids, for God’s sake. No matter how many times you pressed against her chest, she just wasn’t coming back.

“No,” You whispered, warm tears threatening to spool from your eyelids. “C’mon,” you breathed.

Dr. Bailey came up behind you, a similar look of grief in her eyes as she gently grasped your shoulder, attempting to pull you away. “Dr. L/N,”

“C’mon!” You yelled out with a shaky, broken voice.

“Dr. L/N,” Miranda tried again, a little more forcefully this time, but you just didn’t stop. The rest of the surgeons in the OR stayed silent, sharing looks, none of them wanting to interfere with your clear distress. “Dr. L/N, she’s gone.”

You let out a pained sob and your body suddenly went limp. Dr. Bailey stepped in front of you, pulling your hands away from the patient as you were positioned next to Dr. Shepherd. He rested a hand on your shoulder whilst you fixated your eyes on Miranda, inhaling as she looked up at the clock.

“Time of death: 21:04.”

Dr. Bailey’s words rattled through you so fast, that you felt yourself struggling to breath. “No, no, no,” The heat began to spread through your body, it felt like the walls were closing in, like you you were going to explode. You had to get out of there.

Ripping off your scrub cap, you burst through the OR doors, running out into the hall and collapsing against the wall. “No,” you whispered once more, clutching your chest with both of your hands, trying your best to steady your breathing. All you could hear was the screeching sound of the machine filling your ears, and the hospital corridor around you was now a blur.

“Oh my god, Y/N.” You ever so slightly managed to hear the familiar voice of your boyfriend calling out your name, as he knelt down beside you, concern spread all across his face.

“Y/N, babe,” Alex watched as you sat slumped against the wall, your hands pressed to your chest and you heaved. He extended out his arms, one tightly gripping your shoulder, and the other cupping your cheek at an attempt to reassure you. “Y/N.” He repeated, keeping his tone soft not to stress you further. “Y/N, I need you to look at me, please. Can you do that?”

When your struggles for breath got faster, Alex quickly started to panic, “Y/N, look at me!” He sternly said, shaking you slightly and pulling you harshly back into reality. He watched as your eyelids flickered open, as your rapid breaths calmed down when you looked at him. There you were. You never told him what happened - you couldn’t. Nor did you need to, the look in your eyes told him all he needed to know.

You studied his face. Alex seemed sad. For the patient and her family, but more so for you. He knew that you were blaming yourself, but it wasn’t your fault. And he needed you to know that. He pulled you in for a hug, allowing you to sob into his shoulder the second he wrapped his arms around you. You felt his hands rub soft circles on your back, whilst he pressed gentle kisses to your temple. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. Need you to calm down for me.”

“It’s all my fault.” You croaked out between sobs as you heavy breaths finally slowed down.

“Hey,” Alex scolded, pulling away from the embrace. He cupped your cheeks with both his hands, pulling your chin up to ensure you were looking at him. “Don’t say that, don’t you ever say that.” His tone was stern yet sincere, “There was nothing else you could’ve done. She was sick, she’d been sick for a long time. It was not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered under your breath, but loud enough that he could still hear you, “Okay.”

Alex continued to hold you as you calmed down, it felt as though the the whole world was crumbling away from underneath you both. As the two of you sat there against the wall, thoughts began to swirl around your head again, thoughts of what was going to happen next. “Oh god,” you whimpered, sitting up slightly as your eyes filled once more, “I have to tell her husband.”

Alex tightened his grip on you. He’s just calmed you down, if you got stressed out again you’d only hurt yourself. “No.” He was quick to shake his head, “No, you don’t. Bailey can do it. You need to stay here with me and calm down or you’ll make yourself sick.”

#greys anatomy #greys abc #alex karev #justin chambers #alex #dr karev #fanfic #fanfiction #greys anatomy fanfiction #doctor x reader #doctor reader #doctor!reader #2000s #angst #comfort #grief #panic attack #anxienty #alex karev x reader #alex x reader

[miguelswifey04]

boxer! miguel o’hara x doctor! reader (part 1)

summary: where you’re the new doctor at the boxing gym and you meet miguel o’hara, the famous and most strongest boxer. will you and him both explore the depths of your desires or keep it professional?

🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱

you were hired to be the new doctor of the UFC gym where the famous boxer, miguel o’hara, was part of. being a well known olympic-level doctor for the USA women’s gymnastics team the UFC immediately hired you on the spot since you wanted a chance of scenery. it would be a lie to say you didn’t miss the bonds and friendships you created with the women on the gymnastics team but you needed to do this. you needed to expand your horizons.

now after the first fight of the new season, miguel o’hara had become victorious but was definitely battered up. he was sent to you after his win to be fixed up but lo and behold he wasn’t expecting to see a pretty doctor like yourself to be the new doctor around here. his eyes widen for a moment as he sees you. “oh, you must be the new doctor..." he says with a weak smile. he was beaten up pretty bad and was furrowing his brows due to his exhaustion. you glanced at him and smiled sweetly, “yes! i am.” you fixed your doctor’s coat and went to put on gloves. miguel’s eyes wandered to your figure taking in your slim and muscular build. he was a little curious to see that you were athletic and in shape but he quickly looked away when you turned around to face him with that pretty smile of yours.

standing tall, his muscular form showcased his battle-worn physique. his brown skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, testament to the demanding match he had just endured.

tightly bandaged hands, speckled with patches of dried blood, were evidence of the brutal punches miguel had delivered. despite his injuries, the aura of authority clung to him, radiating an air of confidence and power.

he approached the doctor, his steps slightly unsteady from exhaustion. taking in the your slightly shorter stature, curvy yet athletic figure, his eyes roamed over every delicate curve with a mix of appreciation and desire. miguel’s gaze lingered on the doctor's mocha skin, drawn to its inviting warmth, contrasting with his own deep brown eyes.

“mmm, a new doctor, huh?" miguel’s voice was hoarse, a result of the intensive match. it carried a hint of a rugged charm, overshadowed by a layer of weariness. "you’ve got your work cut out for you, doc. gonna need some tender loving care after that fight."

the ache in his muscles made a massage seem tantalizingly appealing to him, but miguel wondered if the doctor's touch had the potential to ignite a different kind of fire within him. nevertheless, he needed to maintain his professional demeanor, at least for now.

“name’s miguel o'hara, but you can call me migs," he introduced himself, granting the doctor permission to address him as such. "so, doc, what do you think? can you patch me up and get me back in fighting shape?

you nodded your head as you patted down the bed where’d you needed him to sit on, “yes of course! nice to meet you, migs. my name is dr. y/n but you can just call me y/n.” you smiled sweetly as miguel followed your instructions and watch him situate himself on the bed. “likewise, doc.”

“this isn’t something i can’t do after all i have experience as i used to work with olympic gymnasts.” you carefully touched him.

he extended his bruised hand towards the doctor, seeking their touch. the injuries inflicted upon his hand during the fight throbbed gently, acting as a reminder of the intensity with which he fought. miguel’s eyes never left the doctor, his gaze filled with an intensity that could rival the fire burning within him.

“but let's put those skills to the test, doc," Miguel continued, a subtle grin playing at the corners of his lips. "my hands might be a little roughed up, but i’m sure you can work some magic and bring them back to life."

he leaned forward, his toned body shifting slightly as he closed the distance between them. the scent of sweat and adrenaline clung to his skin, mingling with the subtle allure of his natural musk. the enticing combination teased the air between them, heightening the small space that separated their bodies.

“as an olympic-level doctor, you're not afraid of a little challenge, are you?" miguel’s voice dropped to a low and seductive tone, his eyes glinting with a mixture of playful challenge and raw desire. "because I could use a little TLC, doc, especially from someone as skilled as you. think you can handle it?"

miguel obediently took a seat on the bed, his body relaxing under the doctor's gentle guidance. the softness in your voice soothed him, creating an atmosphere of trust and comfort. though he was used to handling situations with authority and dominance, in this moment, he allowed himself to surrender control and place his well-being in the doctor's capable hands.

his dark brown eyes followed the doctor's every move, studying your grace and precision as you prepared to tend to his battered hands. miguel’s hands were strong and calloused from years of training and fighting, a visual representation of the skill and power he possessed in the ring.

as your nimble fingers began to unwrap the bandages, miguel’s senses were immediately heightened. the gentle touch against his skin sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through his body. he fought the urge to lean even closer, wanting to immerse himself in the doctor's touch, in their essence.

“you’ve got quite the touch, doc," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "feels like you know just how much pressure to apply, how to bring out the healing without sacrificing sensuality."

his gaze never wavered, their eyes locked in an unspoken understanding. miguel’s fingers twitched involuntarily, as if craving the doctor's touch, wishing to trace the contours of your body, to imprint the sensations on his fingertips.

he leaned back slightly, exposing more of his hands to your tender ministrations. as individual strands of bandage fell away, his injuries were laid bare for inspection. bruises and cuts painted a vivid picture of the relentless battle he had endured.

miguel indulged in the anticipation, wondering how the you would heal him, wondering if your touch would ignite a new fire within him, a different kind of intensity. he relished the moment, knowing that in the your hands, his body would be both vulnerable and safe.

———

a/n: i need to stop with these AU’s 💆🏽‍♀️

this is definitely going to be in parts <3

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner @dracuilina

#spiderman atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel spiderman #atsv x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #spider person #spidersona #ao3 works #boxer au #boxer miguel o’hara #doctor reader #🌱 lin writes

[froottalks]

Healing Hearts - Kara Danvers x fem!reader

[summary: where reader is a new doctor who works at the DEO and is a huge fan of supergirl, unknown to the reader, kara has a crush on the reader and finds her really beautiful and cool. They soon become friends and kara hangs out with the reader in the med bay and keeps her company while she's not out saving the world. kara tells reader her true identity and later shyly asks reader to go out with her, reader finds kara's behavior really cute and amusing and says yes.]

Masterlist

{Part 1} {Part 2}

The DEO was a place of extraordinary individuals, each with their own unique abilities and contributions to the mission. Dr. (Y/n) (L/n) was the latest addition to the team, a brilliant physician with a heart as big as her drive to make the world a better place. With a warm smile and an enthusiastic spirit, she quickly found herself embracing the responsibilities of the medical bay.

On a particularly eventful day, Dr. (Y/n) was tending to Agent Alex Danvers, who had just returned from a tough mission. They had formed a bond over shared laughter and friendly conversations, but one topic never failed to come up—Supergirl. Dr. (Y/n) was a huge fan of the superhero, gushing about her heroic acts, her strength, and her unwavering dedication to the city.

"Come on, (Y/n)," Alex teased as Dr. (Y/n) chattered excitedly while treating her minor injuries. "You can't deny that you have a little crush on Supergirl."

Dr. (Y/n) blushed furiously, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that matched her doctor's coat. "N-No, Agent Danvers! I just… admire her. She's amazing."

Alex chuckled, clearly enjoying the reaction she was getting. "Sure, sure. Just remember, I've got my eye on you."

As days turned into weeks, Dr. (Y/n) continued her work at the DEO, always ready to patch up agents after intense missions. Her dedication and compassion didn't go unnoticed, and her interactions with Alex only grew stronger. Yet, despite her friendly demeanor, Dr. Y/n remained blissfully unaware of the deeper secrets that the DEO held.

One fateful day, a mission went awry, leaving Supergirl injured and exhausted. She had pushed herself beyond her limits, using up almost all of her solar energy in a daring rescue. The wounds were minor, but her energy was depleted, leaving her weakened and in need of medical attention.

As they returned to the DEO, Dr. (Y/n)'s eyes widened with a mix of excitement and concern when she saw Supergirl being brought in. Without hesitation, she took charge, guiding the hero to the med bay.

"Wow, I never thought I'd get to treat Supergirl," she muttered to herself as she worked, her hands deftly tending to the superhero's wounds.

Supergirl observed the doctor, her lips quirking into a small smile. She had seen Dr. (Y/n)'s interactions with Alex, how her eyes would light up whenever Supergirl's name was mentioned. It was endearing, and Supergirl couldn't help but find the doctor's enthusiasm contagious.

As Dr. (Y/n) worked, she felt a presence behind her. Turning, she found Supergirl watching her with a gentle smile.

"You're doing a great job, Doctor," Supergirl said softly, her voice warm and reassuring.

Dr. (Y/n)'s heart skipped a beat as she met those blue eyes, the realization hitting her that she was treating her idol—Supergirl herself.

"Th-thank you, Supergirl," she stammered, her cheeks flushing as she continued her work.

Supergirl's injuries were minor, but the energy depletion had taken a toll on her. As (Y/n) finished her treatment, Supergirl's hand brushed against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her veins. Their eyes met, and (Y/n) saw a mixture of gratitude and something else—an unspoken connection.

In the days that followed, (Y/n) and Supergirl's paths continued to cross. Supergirl found herself hanging around the medical bay, keeping the doctor company and engaging in light-hearted conversations. (Y/n)'s excitement was infectious, and Supergirl found herself opening up more than she had with anyone else.

One evening, as the sun set and bathed the DEO in warm hues, Supergirl found herself alone with Dr. (Y/n) in the medical bay. The silence was comfortable, the air charged with unspoken emotions.

"(Y/n)," Supergirl began, her voice slightly nervous. "I have something to tell you."

(Y/n) looked up from her paperwork, curiosity evident in her eyes. "What is it, Supergirl?"

Supergirl took a deep breath, her heart racing. "I'm not just Supergirl. My name is Kara Danvers. I wanted you to know who I really am."

(Y/n) blinked in surprise, her mind racing to process the revelation. "You're Kara Danvers?"

Kara nodded, her gaze never leaving (Y/n)'s. "I trust you, (Y/n). And... I really enjoy spending time with you."

A blush painted (Y/n)'s cheeks as she met Kara's gaze, her heart fluttering with a mixture of shock and delight. "I can't believe this. And I... I enjoy spending time with you too."

Kara's smile was radiant, her eyes holding a depth of emotion that spoke volumes. "(Y/n), would you… um, like to go out with me? Maybe for coffee or something?"

(Y/n)'s lips curved into a grin as she observed Kara's shy demeanor. It was both endearing and amusing to see the confident Supergirl acting like this.

"I'd love to, Kara."

The relief that crossed Kara's face was palpable, and she chuckled softly. "You have no idea how nervous I was."

{Part 2}

#supergirl #supergirl x reader #x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #x female y/n #kara danvers #kara zor el #kara danvers x reader #doctor reader #shy kara danvers #fluff #cute fluff #doctor y/n #part 1

[fiona-my-love]

THIS WAS ORIGINALLY A J-CK BRIGHT X READER FIC BUT NOW ITS UNDER CONSTRUCTION BECAUSE OF THE CREATOR’S ACTIONS.

————— x immortal! reader oneshot (hurt/comfort)

ahh.. immortal lovers. what would I do without this trope.

Tw: Suicidal thoughts/actions, crying, angst in general but fluff at the end

He sat alone in his office, shaking and muttering curses under his breath.

“Why won’t I just fucking die.”

He muttered to himself, eyes filled with tears. He clutched his amulet in disdain. Why was this the way his life went?

All he was back then was an unheard of scientist, trying to make a name for himself. And he can’t tell if he achieved his goal or if he completely lost sight of it. After everything that happened, was he even himself anymore? Was he known for his hard work, or just because of his immortality? Was it really going to be this way for the rest of his life, seeing everyone die time and time again?

He tried not to think of it, squeezing the pendant in his hand and smashing it to the ground. He was practically sobbing at this point, as he continued to smash his fist into the cold, hard floor. His other hand clutching his mouth, as he let out muffled screams. He watched the scarlet liquid begin to pour down from his fingers, the pain red hot. Why was this happening to him of all people? What was so different about him?

He sat there in pure shock, trying to numb out his cold reality. If only I never came to this dammed foundation. It hurt to think, but it was the truth. He was so passionate about it, his loyalty belonging to it completely. Yet, he can’t deny the fact that it ruined him. He couldn’t help but loathe his past self, so exited yet so oblivious.

But then, he was taken out of his mind-numbing daze when he heard the door creak.

“Hon?.. You alright?” you chirped.

Your voice chimed innocently, simply just checking up on your lover.

You opened the door to a horrifying sight. Jack was sitting on the floor, pulling at his hair. His face was buried in his knees, but you could see the reflection of his tears. Something was clearly wrong.

The room was filled with dread, yet you ran straight to him, kneeling down to his level. You cup his face,

“————? What happened?..” you whispered.

He looks back at you, eyes full of regret.

“I’m sorry, I just-“ he choked.

How was he meant to describe how he felt? He loved you, but you were just born immortal. Would you even get it? He swallowed, looking up at you. You gasp, seeing his shattered state.

His hair was disheveled, his hand covered in blood. But the most shocking, was his face. Your once energetic and chaotic boyfriend’s eyes were full of sorrow. Bloodshot, face covered him in dried tears.

You held his face, gently wiping away his tears. You fixed his hair a bit, trying to relax him.

“Darling.. what happened?” you murmured.

He was tired of holding it in. He melted into your touch, starting to let it all out. He hung onto you like a lifeline, sobbing into your chest. You held him close, pressing a gentle kiss on his head as you pet his back. He began to ramble about everything he was feeling, and you began to catch on.

“Why do I have to be this way. Why was I cursed like this? It isn’t fair. None of it is..”

You put your hand under his chin, bringing his head up to look at you.

“Darling..” you said, before pressing a gentle kiss onto his lips.

“I don’t have all the answers, but I can promise you that for as long as we’re together, I’ll make sure you feel loved. I’ll always be by your side to ground you, no matter what happens. I’ll always be here to protect you..”

You pulled him closer, bringing him into your lap for a hug.

“I promise.”

Maybe joining the foundation wasn’t the worst decision he ever made.

#fiona writes #hurt/comfort #angst #jack bright #doctor bright #scp containment breach #scp #dr bright #doctor jack bright #dr jack bright #x reader #scp reader #immortal reader #doctor reader #oneshot #do not tag as shaw

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Can we please have a fic with Luke's BF being a doctor and is kidnapped with Luke .gets wounded and has to tell Luke how to take care of his wound until someone finds them?

omg yesss!!! Sorry if it's inaccurate, I used WikiHow I'm panicking I posted this too early and now I'm rushing ahhhu its not finished don't read it yet guys one sec okay we good now guys

Would have liked this to be longer but accidentally posted it then panicker

Warnings: dislocated shoulder

You looked up at Luke, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. "You're going to need to put it back," You mumbled. Seeing him looking at you, unsure. "You have to, we don't know how long the team is gonna be and it's starting to go numb,"

He nods, both to let you know he'll do it, but also in an attempt to hype himself up because holy shit. "What do I need to do?"

"You're going take my wrist in both hands, place your feet against my chest and slowly pull until we hear it go back in,"

You place your arm out, ignoring the pain, not stopping until it was level with your shoulder. You give Luke a nod, waiting for him to take your wrist in his hands before you turn your head to the ceiling.

It takes a few minutes and then a clock echoes throughout the room and the pain subsides slightly. "Oh thank god..." You mutter. "Is there anything around here that can be used as a sling?"

Luke looks around, not seeing anything, he gives you a wink before he takes his shirt off, using that to stabilise your arm.

"That'll be 200 dollars," Luke grins, trying to take your mind off of the pain.

"Are you a stripper or a doctor?"

"Both," He winks.

"Luke, I love you, but you're really not a doctor," You mumble.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #luke alvez x male reader #luke alvez #gay male reader #male reader #male!reader #doctor reader #not doctor who doctor medical professional doctor

[wherethewolfsbaneblooms]

Your Blood In My Veins -

‼️ALCINA ORIGIN STORY ALERT‼️

Deep into the heart of 1950s New York City, follow Alcina’s fall from fame as the most famous jazz singer of the age through the eyes of her estranged friend, a brilliant medical doctor whose passion is discovering the answer to infectious disease. After Alcina returns to your life for the first time in over 10 years pleading for help with her declining health, together you embark on a journey to save her that digs up long lost feelings and irrevocably changes both of your lives forever. Such a tale becomes Alcina’s darkest secret for decades to come.

Finally, the secret I’ve been keeping — aka, an Alcina Dimitrescu x Doctor!Reader that details my version of her origin story. I’ve done tons of historical research in prep for this fic. Best part is it will fit into the game’s canon like a glove. Prologue is available to read on AO3 now.

#resident evil village #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil 8 #alcina dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x female reader #reader insert #your blood in my veins #Alcina origin story #doctor reader #porphyria #alcina dimitrescu x reader

[btnclmrttn]

Hellloooo! Are you still taking requests? :O if you are, can i pleaaase have saitama with a doctor s/o please? 🙉🙊🙈

Yes Yes Yes! I've been waiting for an ask like this! I'll ll do my best, but I'm only a nursing assistant lol. Only thing I can tell you about doctors is that they're usually insufferable pains in the ass working with. But that's for another discussion I hope you like it sorry it's long

Doctor S/O HCs

~~~~

It's a miracle how you guys managed to meet considering your schedules but luck have it he liked you enough to find you again

(I'd say you were standing in line in front of him and managed to get hundreds of dollars worth of groceries reduced to like $80. He wants in on that witchcraft)

He admires you so much by the work you do, and is almost intimidated how you can crunch in those long hours.

Always trying to stuff you up with little healthy snacks after you told him sometimes you guys don't have time to sit and eat.

Days off are always the best together. You got used to constantly be running errands on your day off and he helped you learn to chill out and not worry about everything the second you get free time

Lots of tub time together for your sore ass

He's always a sad egg when you get mandated. If it's too long you'll come home to him basically sitting at the door like a puppy. He misses you on the main just isn't aware of it.

If you're having the classic nerve pain or feet n ankles mega ouch he will NOT let you be up on them. He says you should rest as hard as you work.

Any medicine or cream you use for it he likes giving to you, like he's playing doctor

So that's where the househusband energy comes in. He's doing everything he can for you. His kind of lazy is bare minimum lazy, not total slack off. He'll do it for you

He's on your ASS about stretching. ALL THE TIME

He will message you sometimes but if it's a nerve problem it don't help at all for some people

Once you explain a handful of terminology he'll actually be interested in you work ramblings. There isn't ever a boring day, especially with dick bag coworkers

This fool will look downright mortified if you get talking about the not so fun part of the job. Not necessarily the deaths or gore, but the body waste hazards. Don't tell him till AFTER he's eaten any meal or it will ruin the whole appetite

He still listens even if it's gross. Why you chose this life, he'll never know

The job itself is painfully sad, most of the time. Usually everyone's too busy to have a minute to process most things. So if a well loved patient ends up dying, he'll try and be there for you

Literally had no idea what to do but let you just cry it all out while holding you. He'll barely say anything cause he just has no idea how you handle it as well as you do

Every now and then you'll see him in a window waving at you if he's in monster battle ground. The hospital never stops no matter what the warning is so you can get front row seats sometimes

He got knocked into the hospital one time and was like "oh hey hun" before hopping back into battle

You don't really have to ever patch him up after some fight but sometimes his friends that tag along are a different story. He'll be just showing you off and telling everyone what a good job you do as you're trying to stop some bleeding or some shit

Always boasting but he isn't aware of it, tbh

Be like "My partner, a doctor btw-"

When he explained how he lost his hair, you joked about it being alopecia. Now he's just contemplating his life and if it really wasn't hard work, just weird timing.

Because of how much you make, sometimes you take him out on a little bit more expensive dates, or get him really nice gifts.

He loves you but he hates it. The fact you have more money he can make in months is flabbergasting. Don't do this to him when you first meet it will scare him away

He's just grateful someone so smart and caring like you loves him. Ask him, and you're out of his league. He's a lucky mfr

#anime #one punch man #opm #opm x reader #saitama #saitama hcs #saitama x reader #saitama/reader #saitama x y/n #doctor reader #reader is inaccurate i hate doctors #prestigious pricks #nurses be real ones #sometimes #opm headcanons #genos #speed o sound sonic #Garou

[aikoiya]

Arcane Writing Prompt - Viktor With Counselor's Daughter F!Reader

For anyone who wants to give this a shot.

Viktor with a daughter of a Councelman fem!s/o from Piltover who he'd met as kids. She's secretly a magicborn on her mother's side with healing magic, but no one knows this, not even herself as her parents have kept this from her.

When her magical reserves are full, her magic gives her auto-healing, auto-regenerative, & auto-detoxifying abilities as well as a boosted immune system (she calls it her magical self-recovery), but the worse the damage, the slower the process of recovery.

Depending on the sort of food she consumes, she can heal certain things faster. So, once she's learned of her magic, she begins to study nutritional gastronomy in order to optimize the healing process. Things like drinking 3-bone tea (nettle, comfrey, & boneset) or bone broth when she has a broken bone.

But, she isn't really aware of any of this in the beginning. Though, she becomes suspicious once she begins studying medicine, but she has nothing to confirm it.

Anyway, she'd run off from her caretaker as a little girl, getting lost in the Undercity. She lived there for a week, essentially homeless, until she met Viktor who took her home to meet his mother. She lived with them for a month, becoming best friends with Viktor & Rio. Accompanying him to visit Singed & helping him with his gadgets.

Then, one day, the Enforcers found her & ripped her away from Viktor.

She cried for weeks because he was her only real friend.

Having learned what it was like living in the Fissures, she grew up to study medicine, biology, pediatrics, pharmacology, biochemistry, bioengineering, neurology, psychiatry, anatomy, biophysics (the field that applies the theories & methods of physics to understand how biological systems work), biomechanics (the study of the structure, function & motion of the mechanical aspects of biological systems), & biomedical engineering (which is the study of building prosthetics & other machines to advance healthcare treatment), in an attempt to someday help the Undercity residents have better healthcare, hopefully to find a cure for the Zaun Grey & to also hopefully build a better brace for Viktor so that he'll no longer need a cane, because she knows how much he hated that thing.

Is considered a genius of medicine & biology.

With musicology on the side just for fun because she loves music.

Even becoming something of a Zaun Independence Advocate & supporter of the Children of Zaun, starting up a charity with food & clothes drives as well as collecting learning material to be brought to the Fissurefolk. Has met Vander many times as he's usually the one who distributes the things she brings. They get on very well & he's always sure to show her his gratitude. Cried when she learned about Vander's death as he'd been a good friend to her & honestly more of a father figure than her own father had been. Got on well with his kids & Ekko, but only because they didn't know she was a Piltie at that time. Later becomes a trusted (secret) ally of the Firelights as she provides them with medical assistance, food, clothes, learning materials, medical supplies, & teaches whoever is willing to listen, first aid.

She is considered quite odd amongst the Piltover elite. An outcast. Think Belle from Beauty & the Beast. Her parents outwardly behave as though she were a disappointment while inwardly being somewhat secretly proud of her.

Then, one day in the Academy, she stumbles into a lanky man with a cane & very familiar dayglow eyes.

She's there when Viktor & Jayce make the breakthrough on HexTech.

See's incredible potential in HexTech for medicine, specifically in the realm of biomedical engineering & the construction of more effective medical machines which results in the invention of chemical centrifuges, x-ray machines, catscan machines, & other such devices.

Once HexTech kicks off, she & Viktor build a Susurrecorder, which is a HexTech device that produces sounds at a frequency of 25 to 150 Hertz to mimic a cat's purr, which she discovered is a frequency which aids in bone repair & healing. This, when put together with the Hex Crystal powering it, simulates low-level, gentle sound-based healing magic that gives listeners low-level health regen.

It was a success & is now used in Piltovan hospitals to aid in recovery.

She also discovered Alpha Waves, Beta Waves, & Delta Paterns. Alpha Waves peak around 10Hz. Good healthy alpha production promotes mental resourcefulness, aids in the ability to mentally coordinate. Beta Waves are the fastest frequency of brainwaves (13-40 Hz). They are responsible for focus, concentration & analytical thinking. Binaural beats in the Delta Pattern operate at a frequency of 0.5–4 Hz with links to a dreamless sleep. Meanwhile, 432 Hz frequency is ideal for use as a sleep aid as it is known for its relaxing, calming effects.

Later models of the Susurrecorder are built with a knob allowing users to switch between the Healing Frequency, a mix of Alpha & Beta Waves called Brain Beats, & a mix of Delta Patterns & the 432 Hz frequency called Sleep Tunes.

An even later model built specifically for hospital patients has the Healing Frequency with a switch to turn on Sleep Tunes so that both can be on at once to both aid in sleep while still allowing for increased healing.

Is Viktor's primary doctor when he gets ill (I hc that it's either Leukemia or Tuberculosis) which complicates things because doctors aren't allowed to be in relationships with their patients.

Maybe she also already had a crush on him to begin with, but didn't go for it because of the whole doctor/patient thing & if they got together before he was cured, she'd be forced to stop being his doctor & he might not ever get cured because of it? Maybe Viktor's the one to instigate, but it was while she was his doctor & she only turned him down because of the doctor/patient thing, but not long after curing him, she approaches him because, now, she's no longer his doctor.

She also makes the best & most effective medicines & half her stock goes to Zaun for dirt cheap while the other half goes to Piltover for higher than typical to compensate. It's only because her medicine is so effective that people in Piltover keep using her medicine.

She's planning to move to Zaun to start an independent practice to provide better Healthcare for the city.

Arcane Masterlist

#arcane #league of legend #female reader #viktor #viktor x reader #doctor reader #hextech founder reader #heiress reader #writing prompt

[kuro1104]

Our first own story

it plays in the tokyo revengers univers as izana kurokawa's biological mother, diwata kurokawa. she is a doctor in tokyo who was in a coma due to a car accident and now she is in the middle of the deliquent world and tries to help everyone but who will help our protagonist if she is in trouble because of her past.

credits go to ken wakui all the characters except diwata kurokawa are his.

NOTICE

The story is pure entertainment so it can be getting quite overdone. We don't want to offend anyone so stereotype warnings ahead. The picture we paint of a Filipino mother are a mixture of given view from society in our country and google research. Also Diwata is going to be sarcastic, sometimes cold and very overpowered. Please read at your own risk.

#filipinomotherwithflipflops #op reader #fem reader #mother reader #fighting #doctor reader #tokrev

[ryuzakemo128]

The Doctor and The Painter

Trigger Warning: Self harm mentioned

A/N: Trying out a new writing style. I have used this for this site. I hope you guys will find it useful too.

Link Here

P.s.: Apparently this site says I write my original stuff like Oscar Wilde. But my fanfiction stuff is written in a different style.

A/N 2: If you like this and you want more, let me know and I'll try to write up more of it.

"I would love to see it, I mean it. I would love to see your previous portraits all of those women," He paused as he looked at the middle aged artist fumbling with the brushes in his paint covered hands.

"I don't know how that would do me any good Doctor Smith. I have already sold most of them by now, I don't have enough years in me to create more than enough to show off,"

"Leave that part to me, I'll make sure that not only your work is shown, but many others." The doctor said with a wicked grin spreading across his face, he bowed and as the painter turned to place his paint brushes into the jar of murky brown water. The doctor vanished, as if he wasn't really there at all and leaving the painter with his dark thoughts of self harm.

Lord knows where the doctor had gone to, whether he would come back and help or disappear completely. It is said the painter had died that night, his very last death the very last time.

As he breathed his very last breath, he said "I curse those who come after me, for no one will know suffering better than I" He bled into the house both his body and soul. Bones and all. Ladies wept, their spouses would leap from the top of the home ten floors down to their deaths below. No one knew how cursed it became until two little boys came home one day.

"Where is mother" said one,

"Where is father?" said the other.

"I don't know" said the creature under the stairs. "I don't think I really care"

#Original Fiction #Drabble #Imagine #creative writing #writing ideas #one shot #horror writing #thriller writing #Artist Reader #Doctor Reader #fiction #original fiction #horror fantasy #my creative writing #short story

[caesium-55]

“My girlfriend will be upset if she sees you touching me like that on my chest,” Carlos murmured, high as fuck post surgery.

“Sir—” you sighed, removing the stethoscope from his chest. You straightened the lapels of your white coat. “I’m your doctor.”

Carlos Sr. made an amused noise from his chair beside his son’s hospital bed. He gestured towards you.

“You don’t have a girlfriend,” Carlos Sr. told his son.

“Oh,” Carlos blinked his big, brown eyes. “I don't?”

Carlos was certain he had a girlfriend. They've been dating for over four years now. Their relationship was kept from the world as his girlfriend wanted to focus on her job without being bombarded by Carlos' millions of fans in her workplace and Carlos respected that, although he was not exactly the type who liked the idea of secret relationships. What did she do again? Carlos couldn't remember. The anesthesia was making everything whoozy for him.

“That's your wife, son.”

Carlos moved his gaze to your coat—[Name] [Surname]-Sainz, M.D., Chief of Trauma Surgery.

"Oh."

You raised an amused brow at his dumbstruck face, his beautiful brown eyes wide and his mouth agape. You shook your head at your husband's adorableness, smiling affectionately.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #fluff #f1 imagine #f1imagines #cs55 x reader #cs55 #doctor! reader #is this a breach of professionalism

[forhappysake]

We're Okay

A/N - Guys idk where this came from. I guess I'm just feeling emotional and inspired.

Content - After JJ admits her decade-long love for Spencer, you and your boyfriend have to have a conversation to calm both of your doubts and fears.

Warnings: spencer reid x fem!reader, season 14 spoilers, anxiety, mentions of typical BAU-level crime stuff, fluff at the end

You walked in the door slowly, cautionary even; afraid the smallest noise would bring reality crashing down on you. The car ride home had been completely silent, as neither of you bothered to turn on the radio. Spencer shuffled in behind you, the click of the lock making you wince as you did your best to avoid his gaze. You stripped off your coat, throwing it over the couch before walking straight into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind you. 

As you started the shower and stripped off your clothes, the evening’s events rushed back into your mind. Being involved in a hostage situation with an unstable unsub was one thing. JJ being held at gunpoint was worse. However, as if all that wasn’t enough, JJ admitting her decade-long hidden love for Spencer was the final nail in the coffin. As you climbed into the shower, you did your best to let the water wash away the thoughts running through your head. 

Unfortunately, your attempt was unsuccessful. As you dried off and wrapped yourself in a towel, your mind raced. You’d been dating Spencer for nearly a year and a half. The two of you had just recently moved in together. Having known him and JJ for at least half a decade, you knew they were close, but you never would have guessed this was coming. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way she did. If so, what did this mean for your relationship?

After stalling in the bathroom for so long that goosebumps dotted your freshly dried body, you mustered up the courage to slip out of the bathroom and into the bedroom that you shared with Spencer. As you walked across the hallway, you could see his silhouette sitting on the living room couch, head bent forward. You couldn’t tell if he was reading or in deep thought, but you decided that either option was better than the alternative: trying to have a conversation. 

You snuck into the bedroom, gently turning on the bedroom light and letting your eyes adjust to the warm glow of your room. You meandered to the closet, pulling out a simple t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. Slipping into your pajamas and stealing a glance at yourself in the vanity mirror, you noticed one of the many images covering the tabletop. 

A framed photograph from less than a year ago of JJ, Will, Spencer, and yourself with the boys on a weekend hiking trip. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest and wondered if Will had any idea what was going on in JJ’s head. You shook the thought away, reminding yourself that you had bigger problems of your own to deal with. You turned back to the bed, sliding under the covers and turning off the light. Despite your distress, you were exhausted and you found yourself losing track of time and drifting off to sleep in mere minutes. 

*  *  *

You awoke to the sound of the bedroom door latching shut. You rolled over, blinking your eyes open in an attempt to sneak a peak at your bedside alarm clock. You’d already been asleep for three hours and Spencer was just now coming to bed. It was well after midnight, and you knew that meant he had been up thinking about something. You figured it would be best not to push the subject after everything that had happened. 

With your eyes shut, you waited to feel the familiar sensation of Spencer climbing into bed. Instead, you felt his weight at the foot of the bed, as if he had perched himself on the end. You tried not to think much of this and did your best to fake sleep. However, it soon became apparent that Spencer was on to you. 

“I know you’re awake,” he said gently. His voice was gruff from the hours he’d spent in silence. Spencer waited before speaking again, “I think we should talk about what happened.” 

There it is, you thought. Your stomach sank as your eyes fluttered open. You rolled over to face him, leaning up on your arms. It was then you noticed that he was still in his suit. His unkempt hair fell over his eyes and you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the disheveled man in front of you. “Alright,” you relented, still refusing to meet his eyes, “what do you want to talk about?”

Spencer rolled his neck, tension evident in his movements. “I want to know how you feel about what was said earlier,” he said. For the first time in hours, you met his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. You found no signs of dishonesty, so you fell back on the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh. 

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you groaned. “I definitely was surprised. I definitely wasn’t thrilled.” Spencer nodded, moving some hair away from his eyes as you spoke. “But,” you started again, “it’s not like we can go back and change it now.” 

He reached an arm out, putting a hand over the covers on top of your knee. “I know,” he whispered, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

You scoffed a bit at his sincerity and his innocence, meeting his eyes once more. “And how do you feel about it?” you asked. 

Spencer bit his lip in thought. You could tell you had caught him off guard with the question, and he seemed to be calculating his response. “Can I be honest with you?” he said. 

You raised your eyebrows, the nervous feeling in your stomach intensifying. Is this where he tells you he feels the same way and leaves for good? You pushed your thoughts to the side. “Always,” you whispered.

He sighed, laying back on the bed so he was next to you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you wanted nothing more than to curl into his warmth. You knew this wasn’t the time, so you held yourself back and held your breath, awaiting his response. 

“First, I was confused,” Spencer explained, eyes locked on the ceiling. “I haven’t thought about JJ like that in over ten years. Frankly, I never knew she thought of me that way, so I was caught off-guard.” 

So he did have a crush on her at one time, you thought. You were ready to close your eyes in defeat, to slip off the bed and out of the apartment and never come back when he cleared his throat. 

“But then,” he started once more, “I had a quick epiphany of all the moments she’d gone out of her way for me, and I could understand where she was coming from.” You turned to look at him, watching his eyes scan the ceiling as he tried to come up with his next statements. 

“And?” you asked, prompting him to continue. 

“And then,” he continued your previous statement, “I was terribly appalled.” 

Your head, which had turned to the ceiling, snapped back in his direction. You felt your eyebrows raise and your jaw drop open a bit in surprise. “Appalled?” you asked, confusion evident in your expression. 

“Appalled,” Spencer echoed, sitting up on the edge of the bed once more and looking back at you. 

“Why?” you asked. 

Spencer shook his head, looking around the room. “I’ve been thinking about that for the last couple hours, and I’ve come up with a lot of reasons,” he mused. “I know she was in a tight place, but Will deserves better than that. The boys deserve better than that. But aside from them,” he leaned over on the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you must have thought. I was so afraid of your reaction and of losing you.”

Despite your evident emotional state as tears pooled in your eyes, you tried to play it off. “Spencer, this isn’t about me,” you reminded him. 

“Yes,” he said, lying next to you, “it is.” Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pulling some curls out of his eyes. “Everyone knows how much I love you. I know how scary something like this can be. But you have to know that I have no idea where this came from and that anything JJ and I had died, on my end, long before I ever met you.” 

You glanced over at him, the sincerity in his voice had moved you to believe him. For a moment, you forgot about JJ and Will, the boys, and the implications of her words. You offered his fingers a small squeeze. “So we’re okay?” you asked in a tiny voice. 

“More than,” Spencer whispered. 

He rolled on his side to face you and you mirrored his actions. He wrapped his arms tight around your body, the textured material of his suit jacket pressed against your cheek. A gentle kiss was pressed to your forehead and you found yourself falling back into sleep. After several minutes passed, you felt Spencer’s voice rumble through his chest for a final time before he succumbed to sleep: “Ever since I met you,” he mumbled, smoothing some stray hairs away from your face, “it’s always been you.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #bau x reader #jennifer jj jareau #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau fanfiction #jeid #doctor spencer reid #doctor reid #agent reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds fic #bau x female reader #bau fic #bau #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands  graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #degrees of lewdity #dol #harper the doctor #dol harper #harper x reader #yandere harper #dol harper x reader #yandere drabble #yandere degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity imagines #yandere dol #dol imagines

[froottalks]

Unveiling Hearts - Kara Danvers x fem!reader

[summary: kara and reader getting ready for their date and going out and having fun, and they talk and share things about each other, kara tells reader about her life on krypton before it was destroyed and how coming to midvale was a huge change and about her life with eliza and alex. Later some soft cheesy romantic fluff scene and kara and reader share a kiss.]

Masterlist

{Part 1} {Part 2}

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city, Kara found herself standing in front of her bedroom mirror, nervously fiddling with the necklace she had chosen for the evening. Tonight was the night she had been waiting for—a chance to spend time with Dr. (Y/n) (L/n) outside the walls of the DEO.

She had opted for a simple yet elegant outfit, a reflection of her true self rather than her Supergirl persona. The soft blue dress she wore matched her eyes, and she couldn't help but smile at her reflection, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

Meanwhile, across town, (Y/n) stood before her own mirror, contemplating her outfit choice.

In the days that had followed, Kara's revelation felt like a whirlwind for (Y/n). Her interactions with Supergirl—now known as Kara Danvers—had taken on a new layer of meaning. The walls between them had crumbled, revealing the vulnerability that lay beneath the heroic facade.

Her heart raced with a different kind of anticipation. Kara, or rather Supergirl, had asked her out—a fact that still felt like a delightful dream. Eventually, she settled on a casual yet stylish outfit—a reflection of her personality. With a confident smile, she adjusted her attire and added a touch of lip gloss.

The sun began to set, and the city was bathed in hues of gold and amber. Kara stood outside (Y/n)'s apartment building, her heart racing with anticipation. She had taken the time to prepare a bouquet of daisies—a symbol of new beginnings—and held them tightly in her hand.

Kara raised her hand and tapped the door lightly thrice, trying hard not to break the door using her super strength in her excitement.

The knock on her door startled (Y/n), and she took a deep breath to calm her racing heart before opening it. There stood Kara, looking even more stunning in person, her eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

"Wow, you look amazing," Kara said, her blue eyes sparkling at the sight before her as (Y/n) opened the door, her smile lighting up the corridor. She looked stunning, her outfit exuding confidence and warmth.

(Y/n)'s cheeks flushed, her heart fluttering at the compliment. "Thank you, you look gorgeous too Kara."

Kara held out the flowers in her hand, her cheeks slightly pink as she offered (Y/n) the bouquet. "These are for you."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened in surprise, her smile growing as she accepted the flowers. "Thank you, Kara. They're beautiful."

Kara's smile matched the warmth of the sunset outside. "You're welcome (Y/n). Shall we?"

Kara extended her arm, and (Y/n) took it with a smile. They walked down the dimly lit streets, the evening air was cool and crisp, a perfect backdrop for their date. They strolled through the city streets, their steps easy and comfortable, their conversation flowing effortlessly, ranging from light-hearted banter to the things the liked and enjoyed, as they discussed their favorite books, movies, and shared interests. Kara's infectious laughter filled the air, and (Y/n) found herself captivated by the woman beside her.

As they settled into a cozy coffee shop, the atmosphere became more intimate. They delved into deeper conversations, sharing stories from their pasts. Kara opened up about her life on Krypton before its destruction— painting a vivid picture of a world filled with wonder, rich culture, and advanced technology, and the sense of belonging she had felt.

She spoke of her family, of the joy and love that had defined her early years. The sadness in her eyes was palpable when she mentioned the loss of her planet, the weight of that history evident in her voice.

"Coming to Earth was a huge change," Kara admitted with a wistful smile. "But being with Eliza and Alex made it feel like home again."

(Y/n) listened attentively, hanging on to every word. She felt a connection to Kara, a kinship with a shared sense of longing, understanding of what it meant to yearn for a place to belong.

"And you, (Y/n)?" Kara asked, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "What brought you to the DEO?"

(Y/n) chuckled, her gaze thoughtful. "I've always wanted to make a difference, to help those in need. The DEO offered a chance to do that, and well, here I am."

Kara smiled, her hand reaching across the table to cover (Y/n)'s briefly—a gesture of comfort and understanding.

Their conversation continued, going from one topic to another. The evening air was filled with the soft hum of the coffee shop, the world outside fading away as they became immersed in each other's stories.

As the night grew darker, the two found themselves walking along the city streets once more, the air crisp and refreshing. They walked side by side, their fingers brushing against each other's ever so often.

The sight of a park bench bathed in moonlight caught Kara's attention, and she gently guided (Y/n) toward it. They sat down, the world around them still and peaceful.

"This has been an amazing night," Kara said softly, her voice filled with warmth.

(Y/n) nodded in agreement, a contented smile on her lips. "It really has."

Kara's heart raced as she looked into (Y/n)'s eyes, the connection between them undeniable. She reached out, gently cupping (Y/n)'s cheek. (Y/n) leaned into it, Kara's touch felt soft and tender.

"(Y/n)," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. "There's something I've been wanting to do all night."

(Y/n)'s breath caught in her throat as she felt Kara's gaze intensify. Her heart pounded, anticipation mingling with nerves.

Without another word, Kara leaned in, her lips meeting (Y/n)'s in a gentle, lingering kiss. The world seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them, their connection deepening with every stolen breath.

When they finally pulled away, their eyes met—a shared understanding and a promise of something more. The moonlight painted their faces with a soft glow, the universe itself seemingly aligning in their favor.

As they walked back towards (Y/n)'s apartment, their fingers intertwined, they couldn't help but feel that the stars themselves had conspired to bring them together. The night was young, and their journey had only just begun.

THE END

#supergirl #x reader #supergirl x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x female y/n #kara danvers x reader #kara danvers #kara zor el #doctor reader #doctor y/n #fluff #cute fluff #one shot #oneshot #romantic #date night #romantic date #cheesy #part 2