#then again for all I know he just had surgery or something

[romanarose]

About a Girl: Chapter 2

Beautiful header by my beloved @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Joel Miller x Trans!Fem!Reader (Nickname, Blue)

Summary: Blue surprises Joel by rebuffing everyone advances in favor of him.

Warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter: 18+ ONLY!! I cannot warn against everything, but these are major themes. Joel is a lil ignorant but not out of hate. He just doesn't know. He's trying his best. There will be smut. Penetrative sex, all of the anal play, oral. There will be transphobia from other people. Addiction and alcoholism. QUICK child neglect not by Joel but I promise, Sarah is fine and is having a great time in life. Fetishization of women attracted to women by a shitty guy. Will update as needed. Again, this is adult content. Expect adult content.

Immersivity: Reader is transgender, AMAB female, reader has had gotten bottom surgery, not top, and is on hormones. reader has visible hair and a blue streak in hair, but not described. Could be braids, could be natural hair, whatever. Header is for aesthetics only. Reader is about Joel and Tommy's height. Let me know if i miss anything!

AN: Another chapter that got too long so I had to seperate it lol. NEXT CHAPTER starts with the pride event lol

TRANS LIVES MATTER! TRANS YOUTH MATTER! TRANS ELDERLY MATTER! TRANS WOMEN MATTER! TRANS MEN MATTER! NON BINARY TRANS MATTER!

The band wasn’t bad, he’d admit. Talia’s brother played base fine and the singer was okay, it just wasn’t Joel’s kind of music. Joel liked country. Garth Brooks, Reba, Dolly. Anyone with the last name Carter or Cash of course. He didn’t understand grunge. He didn’t understand why it sounded like… that.

Still, he was having a good time. It wasn’t because of you. No way. He definitely didn’t stare at the way you jumped around or head banged. He liked the way, when Tommy tried to flirt, you shot him down. He liked the way you liked to stand by him. 

Tess and Talia were not paying attention to the show, making out enough to make Joel blush. Not because it was two women; he’d seen Tess brazenly make out in public with men and women, including Tommy of all fucking people. He tried to pay attention to you. 

You were funny, making him laugh, and a contagious joy he couldn’t help but be attracted to. Joel wasn’t an idiot, he knew you were flirting with him. He knew he wanted you too. It made him swell with pride that you turned down Tommy, who’d make out with you the way you deserved like Talia and Tess were not, in favor of subtle arm touches with Joel… but he didn’t think it was a good idea. Joel hadn’t dated in years, and his last first date was junior year of high school with Kayla. Sarah was so young, he was nervous about bringing another woman around her. She was already so confused about her mom, why she was never around, why she’d come and go. She even asked if Tess was her new mom once because she was Joel’s only friend and around him and Tommy all the time. It probably wasn’t good for her. And he was just… so damn busy. He didn’t spend enough time with Sarah as it was. 

Max stumbled in, blue jeans and brown jacket, pushing through people to get to their group. Max was insufferable, but Tess joked Joel was just jealous of Max’s ability to grow a beard. It was, admittedly, impressive. Dark, full, and fucking all over. Joel could do a mean mustache, but his beard… left something to be desired.

“Ugh, this guy.” Joel murmurs to himself, but you hear. You turn around and smile at him. He noticed at the house you were quite tall, about his and Tommy’s height but figured you were in heels. When going out, Tess usually wore big boots that put her at eye level with him. Now, he sees you’re in flats, just tall. A lot of men aren’t about that, but Joel ain’t no coward. Except he was, because he wasn’t going to make a move. He’d probably never see you after tonight, right? Tess wasn’t known to stick with anyone longer than a few weeks. It was a miracle Tommy had met you thrice already. 

“I won’t tell Tess.” You promise, and Tess detaches her lips from Talia, frowning.

“Won’t tell me what?”

You pretend to zip your lips and lock them up.

Max joined you all. “Ah damn! I missed the free lesbian porn!” 

Joel noticed Talia shoot you a look. Tess smacked Max's head. “That’s strike one, pervert. Behave or I’m gonna stop inviting you places.”

“Ahh c’mon don’t do that! You’re my only chance to get away from the old ball and chain.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “No one made you marry her, Max. ”

Max laughed, not catching on that Joel didn’t like him. Max thought he was god's gift to women and that all men wanted to be him. “Yeeeeeaahh but the bitch baby trapped me.” He clapped Joel on the shoulder, and Joel shrugged him off. “You know how that goes, huh Joel?”

His skin crawled in disgust. Technically, he was right, but that wasn’t the point. “My daughter isn’t a trap, Max, and neither are your kids.”

“Haha, right.” Max waved him off, and Joel turned back to the show, shaking his head. He saw you smiling at him. “And who is this young thing?” Max shamelessly eyed you up and down. You’d shed your jacket at the coat check in preparation for the pit.

Joel was about to step between, to situate his body between you and him but he stopped himself. Maybe you wanted to be looked at like this. It’s the fucking 90’s after all, the world had changed a lot since he was young, changed in ways he couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to seem like he was possessive of you by any means. You didn’t owe him anything. But what if Max was making you uncomfortable? His dad raised him right, teaching him and Tommy to be protective of women… what if you didn’t need protecting-

“My eyes are up here, buddy.” You spoke with irritation, crossing your arms and cocking your hips. “Ain’t much to look at anyway.”

Tess tells him strike 2. 

“Hey now!” Max laughs mockingly, hands raised in defense. “I’ll behave, I’ll behave! I was just mess’n with yuh.”

You give him the ‘I’m watching you’ motion an turn back to the show. Max mutters something under his breathe that makes Joel turn around to glare at him, but Tommy’s already arrived with shots. Joel declines, knowing he’ll have to DD, so you take his. Watching you drink 2 straight shots of tequila made Joel just want you more.

Suddenly, you’re squealing. “This is my song!” Okay, Joel could recognize this one, it played on the radio. The beginning had heavy guitar and he watches you jump around, hair bouncing as you banged your head. The verse quickly dropped, and you turned around to face him, taking his hands in yours as you sang along, looking directly in his eyes. “Load up on guns, bring your friends, It's fun to lose and to pretend, She's over bored and self-assured, Oh, no, I know a dirty word”

When the ‘hey nows’ started, you motioned for him to sing along, and he did. He knew that much. Anything you make you smile like that. Chores started picking up again, and you went back to jump and spinning, a bright smile beaming on your face. You repeated the hand holding for the second verse, but when the second verse started, Joel’s cell phone began to ring. Conditioned to think a cellphone call meant something was wrong, (Tommy’s in jail, Sarah is sick at daycare, dad died), Joel pulled it out and saw the number. He sighed, hating to leave you as you danced around the pit, but he had to answer.

Stepping outside into the empty smoking area, Joel flipped it open. “Hello?” The door closed behind him, shutting out the blaring music.

“Joel? Are you at a bar?” 

Here we go. “Kinda. I’m at a show with Tommy and Tess. Some local band. Everything alright?”

“Why aren’t you home? I called and some young girl picked up. Are you dating someone?”

Why would it matter to her? Why would he have a women he’s sleeping with at his house while he’s at a bar? Why didn’t she just ask Jessica? All questions he should ask, but Joel learned its best just to keep things simple with Kayla. 

“That’s the sitter, Kayla. Remember Jessica from next door? She watches Sarah sometimes.”

Joel heard her huff. “So you can go get drunk with ‘the boys’? And Jesus Joel, Jessie? How old is she, 11?”

“She’s 16, Jess. You left 5 years ago, times arrow marches on.” He knew the sarcasm was a mistake, but it slipped sometimes.

“Nice Joel. real nice. I guess alcohol is more important than my daughter.”

“I havn’t gone to a bar of any kind in probably a year or more. Tommy dragged me out-”

“Spending my child support-”

What child support? “He’s paying. Kayla, is there a reason you called or did you just wanna complain about me?”

“I wanted to talk to my daughter!”

“It’s 9 pm, she’s asleep.”

“Well clearly you don’t care about her, just like you didn’t care about me! I’m coming to get her, you stay out with ‘the boys’”

Here she goes. Kayla was known for her erratic behavior, low impulse control, grandiose ideas. The cheating was constant. In fact, Joel won custody of Sarah on the basis of abandonment when Kayla left to meet up with a guy while Joel was at work only to come home to police at his house when the neighbors called about a screaming baby. Sarah was fine, she had just been fed and was only alone for an hour, but the whole incident wracked him with guilt he’d never quite let go of. Kayla had to have supervised visits for a while as custody proceedings dragged on. Joel trusted her now with Sarah, but it’d been a long road. 

“Kayla, Sarah is perfectly safe. I can send you the picture of her fast asleep Jessica texted me-”

“Oh, you’re texting teenagers now?”

“I’m texting the babysitter.” Joel tried to stay calm, but he hated when Kayla accused him of sleeping with people. She’d really only been right about Tess, but by the time she accused him of sleeping with Tess, they hadn’t hooked up in 2 years. This wasn’t the first time she accused him of sleeping with someone too fucking young, but it was the first time she’d accused him of being inappropriate with a minor. Joel hated the idea that she said any of this to other people, but usually she’d work herself out of a spiral by the next day.

“I want to see Sarah and you can’t keep her away from me!”

Actually, Joel could. Kayla had lost all legal rights to Sarah after everything that happened. Still, Joel didn’t want to keep her away. Sarah deserved a mom, and Kayla was a good mom now that she’s sober and on medication. If Joel had to navigate a few arguments so Sarah had a mom around, he would. 

He spoke calmly. “It’s Friday, she’s asleep. If you’d like to come get her Saturday and Sunday, you can.”

There was a long pause over the phone, and Joel prayed he wouldn’t have to leave you forever to stop Kayla from waking Sarah.

“Okay, yeah that sounds good.”

“Yeah. Just… text me tomorrow when you’re on your way.” Joel sighsin relief, scrubbing his face with his free hand. He heard the door open, turned around to see you.

“Whatever.” Kayla hung up the phone.

You looked at him sympathetically. “Everything okay? I turned around and you were gone, Tommy said you ran outside.”

“Yeah.” He huffed out. “Yeah it’s fine, uh, just Sarah’s mom wanted to talk to her, didn’t really understand why 9 pm was a bad time.” He chuckled wryly, hiding his heart rate slowly calming down.

You nodded. “You get i figured out?”

“Yeah, he’s she says she’ll pick her up tomorrow for the weekend. I dunno if she actually will when she’s done spiraling but… We’ll see.”

Noticeably, you were listening to him intently. You weren’t just waiting for him to stop taling or listening to respond, you were… just listening. “Is she alright?” You said with genuine empathy.

It was Joel’s turn to nod as he leaned back against the cool brick wall, willing his body to relax, telling himself it was okay, to calm down…. But it wouldn’t. “She um… she’s got some mental problems. It ain’t her fault, really. There’s just things that happen in her head she can’t make sense of. She’s a lot better now, real good with Sarah when she’s around she’s just… not around much.”

Waiting to make sure he said his peace, you speak. “You sound very patient Joel. I’m not sure I’d stay this calm.”

Joel burst out a sharp laugh at that. “I wouldn’t say I’m calm, my heart's about to explode right now.” Right away Joel felt like he said to much, admittedly a weakness he wasn’t supposed to have. He was supposed to have it all together for Sarah, for Tommy.

Your brows furrow together as you step forward, hand raised. “May I?”

Whatever it is, Joel agrees to. You place your hand on his chest, and surely you could feel his heart rate. “Do you have anxiety?”

Your hand felt so warm on him. “What’s that?”

You eyes remain on his white shirt with green flannel unbuttoned. “It’s like, chronic, excessive worry. Often irrational. I’m worried you’re having an anxiety attack right now.”

That sounded… scary. “No! No I’m fine.”

You look at him, eyes that he swear sparkled  under the streetlights of the dark alley. “Can you breath okay? I want you to breath with me, Joel.” Your voice was soft, but not patronizing. He didn’t feel like you were talking down to him, just guiding him. Joel does as you instruct, breathing deep, holding, letting go. After a few moments, you frown. “I'm sorry, that usually helps, but your heart is still pounding.”

Under this light, your blue hair shining and your cute, worried face… “I don’t uh…” Joel swallowed thickly. “I don’t think anxiety is the reason anymore.” 

Confusion flittered across your face between the realization did. “Oh.” You chuckle with a smile. “Do you… want me to stop touching you?”

It was barely above a whisper, his voice broken and desperate. “Please don’t stop.”

“Okay.” You smile, pressing him further into the wall, face growing closer to him. “I won’t.” You drew yourself closer still, lips brushing against his but not sealing it yet. Joel desperately wanted to lunge forward and kiss you, but he felt frozen under your touch. “Do you want me to stop now?” You ask, words but breath across his cheek, asking for permission.

“No.”

Your taste was unlike anything he’d ever had in his mouth, opening up so naturally for you to take care of him, for you to devour him piece by piece and let every single frustration and anxiety calm down. Your tongue in his mouth was all that mattered.

Joel reached up o hold you bare arms, but it was there he noticed the goosebumps. He pulled away, and to his dissapoitment, you did too.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You begin to apoligize. “I thought you were- I misread it-”

His eyes went wide with worry. “No! No I didn’t want you to stop i just-” Joel scrambles to take off his flannel. “You were cold.”

He watched you smile grow as you shyly placed your arms though the sleeve. “That’s gotta be the one thing we have in common, huh. Grunge and country love flannel.”

“Yeah.” Joel chuckled. “They do.” He took initiative, tugging on your sleeves to bring you back to him and wrapping your body up in his arms. You felt like you fit perfectly there. You resumed making out with him, growing sloppier as the desire took over, tongues dancing together as you began to feel up his body. Joel was not the fittest man, he knew he had more around the middle than Tommy, but he was strong. He liked knowing you could feel his muscles. He liked knowing he could protect you. He hoped it made you feel safe. He hoped it turned you on.

Then your hand went for his belt buckle and Joel froze. “Do you want me to stop?” You ask again, and he contemplates the answer. Your fingers don’t move an inch until they reach up to grab his chin, forcing him to look in your eyes. 

“Joel. Do you want me to blow you until you forget about all the things you carry on those giant shoulders?”

He swallowed thickly, hands flexing and clenching at his sides. “You… you don’t have to, Blue…”

You smirk at that. “That’s not what I asked, honey. Say no and I’ll happily walk back in there holding your massive hands and make Max lose his mind. Say yes and I’ll make you lose your mind. Either one is great for me.” The way you looked at him, gentle and open, Joel felt like he could truly say no and it wouldn’t change a thing. You wouldn’t guilt him or accuse him of cheating or not being attracted post-baby… But Joel didn’t want to say no. He knew it was a risk, out here in the alleyway… but you were on the other side of the door, it wouldn’t open on your side which would give time…

“I want to- I mean… Yes.” Joel spoke clearly, decidedly. I wanted you to know he meant it. 

You smile brightly, looking like a fucking angel in his flannel as you drop to your knees on the concrete. Eagerly, you undo his belt and the jingle of the metal entices him even more, cock hardening in his blue jeans. 

“Fuck… you sure you wanna do this, you don’t gotta.” He was praying you didn’t stop.”

“Joel Miller,” You chuckled, fingers getting between his skin and boxers, ready to pouce as you looked up at him. “I have been wanting you down my throat since the moment I laid eyes on you, and watching you be a good dad, good brother, good friend did not make this easier on me. Do you have any idea what a catch you were?”

Joel did not think he was a catch. He was a single dad barely getting by and he wasn’t much to look at. He wasn’t sure why he caught your- oh your mouth is on his balls. Jerking him off, you slobber all over his sensitive sacks, unable to fit both in your mouth at once. Quickly, you bring him close to the edge already, having felt nothing but his own fist in 2 years and even then, that was rare. Joel found himself falling asleep in the shower sometimes, who has time for masturbating? You were so eager to please, so enthusiastic, like you just wanted him and only him when there were a hundred men whose dick you could be gagging on that weren’t… him.

And you were gagging. Joel had a lot of insecurities but he knew he was packing. 

Joel wanted to hold your head, to fuck your throat and just let loose on you, to bend you over the dumpster and rail the absolute fuck out of you… but he wasn’t that guy. He couldn’t be bold and adventurous like you were.

You pull off him with a gasp, only breathing long enough to beg for him to come in our mouth. Joel was a polite man, he knew ladies were supposed to cum first… but since you asked…

 He couldn’t keep his moans down as he came down your throat, your beautiful eyes too intense as they stared up at him for Joel to keep him eyes on. He came ropes, it felt like it wouldn’t end he was so pent up but you swallowed every drop. Fucking perfect. 

When he finished, Joel was too in shock up against the wall to even move. You suck on his soft cock like you were still making out with him, delivering a soft kiss at the base of her curls and Joel was thankful he was a thorough showerer. 

Bending over, Joel helped you up and even dusted off the knees of your pants to not arouse suspicion. He catches you smiling at him. 

“You’re a sweetheart, you know that?”

Joel and you walk back into the venue, hand in hand, Joel beaming with pride that you’re wearing him flannel. He even tells you to keep it at the end of the night.

When he gets home, Tommy pays the sitter a generous amount as Joel thanks her, asking if she was good. She was, because of course she was. Sarah was the perfect daughter and deserved a more stable life. A life with two parents Joel had held out for so long, taking Kayla back after every bender, after every affair, after every manipulation and aggression. Until Sarah had been put in danger, it was worth it. Now Joel feels guilt that she was put in that position because Joel didn’t see the signs.

As Joel stares at his sleeping daughter, all tucked away in her purple blankets, hair springing out from her head. Joel had tried to get her to sleep with her hair in a bonnet but she kept ripping it off and hated sleeping with her hair in a pony tail. Joel had to pick his battles. Still, she looked so cute like this. She was such a sweet kid, so happy and loving to everyone around her. Joel worried about the future, about paying for her to do school activities and field trips and vacations, about giving her the life she deserved. Bill paid him well, but fuck, everything was so expensive… prices just kept rising and rising it was unbelievable. He would get another job, but then Sarah wouldn’t have a dad around at all, and deserved at least one parent she could depend on. Joel would do anything for her.

There was just no time in the day to date. So why did he ask for your number tonight?

NEXT CHAPTER I SWEAR

Thanks for the love you guys!!!

Joel is a good guy he's trying so hard.

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#Joel miller #Joel Miller x reader #trans reader #transfem!reader #Joel Miller x trans reader #thou fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #Tommy miller #tess servopoulos #bill and frank #thou hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #Joel Miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #dad joel miller #bi tess #bi tess servopoulos #good uncle tommy miller

[buckttommy]

married firstprince au set 10ish years in the future where alex is a victim of an assassination attempt while him and henry are apart and the absolutely heartstopping, bone crushing fear when henry gets the call........ bonus points if they were in the middle of a fight at the time............. hold on. i'm throwing up on myself....

#GOD. Everyone shut up okay just shut up #Henry just doing his thing minding his business #fighting the everlooming stress of the fact that it's been six days since he's seen his husband #and the last time he saw him they were hurling biting words and insults at each other #(something they agreed to never do since they got married) #and he's already not sleeping because he can't sleep without Alex #so he's a bit miserable. #But then Shaan comes to him one morning and he KNOWS #The minute he looks at his face he feels his heart fucking drop down to his stomach #and he's just like 'tell me he's not dead. tell me' #and Shaan is like 'he's not but it's bad. We need to go' #So the whole flight Henry's just sat there torturing himself over every horrible word he's ever said to ALEX #of all people. It's stupid. The whole fight was stupid and none of it matters because the love of his life might be fucking #dead by the time he gets to the hospital. Anyways. Alex is in surgery again when he gets there #and he has to wait another EIGHT hours just for a doctor to come out and tell him Alex is fine it was touch and go for a minute there #but he really doesn't hear anything beyond 'Alex is fine.' #Anyways when Henry sees his husband he crawls into bed beside him (careful not to hurt him of course) and just holds him #(and cries softly because he's just had the worst twenty-four hours of his life) #and he's still holding him when Alex wakes up and the first words out of his mouth are 'hey baby' and that's when Henry really loses it #Alex drifts back off to sleep (not without mumbling a sleepy apology and an I love you) #but when he wakes up #they talk and Alex is just like 'I was so fucking scared I would hurt you the way your dad did' and Henry is like #'what do you mean sweetheart?' and Alex is like 'i don't want you to know the pain of losing me i don't want to do that to you' #which nearly sends them BOTH over the edge and it's all very tender and sweet. #Anyways then they make out and fall asleep together in the hospital bed #and it's the best sleep Henry has had in days. #the end #future wips #fandom: rwrb

[1980ssunflower]

nuzzles my face against my baby ryan 🥺💖

#f/o:💖what a fool believes🎸 #tape entry circa 1980 #SILLAY MODE ENGAGED #FACE OF A MAN WHO HAS JUST PISSED OFF MIN HFDJS #OOOO my baby ;w; #i miss him so so fucking much i like. literally had a breakdown abt how much i missed him a couple days ago ghdfjk #full on sobbing abt how much i love and miss him and need him here holding me #i really want to be vulnerable w him and wrap my arms around him as bury my face in the crook of his neck #oh god id do anything to hear him... i want to hear his beautiful wonderful angelic voice... IM TEARING UP AGAIN #everything about him... its so wonderful... him and my min-gi own my entire heart #id do anything for them... i love them... #thinking of ryans voice makes me tear up from how much i love and miss him... #i want to hear him tell me how talented i am and he knows ill be able to do all the things id like and be something great #that he knows im destined to be a rockstar and we all will get to be rockstars together :'-] #i want him to play w my hair while he talks to me and runs his other hand over my body caressing me #id like to hear him sing to meee #maybe we'll put on a record or just listen to a tape and sing the songs together #id also like for us to play some guitar together :-] #ive been making progressing again on this song last night that i had to put off w stuff + surgery #and i feel like ryan would be proud of me :'-] #but just auh my heart is so full i just love my baby more than there are stars in the sky type of thing #i want to take in his scent and be comforted by it and his presence and how im being held against him #holding his pretty face in my hands and looking into his beautiful dark brown eyes #smoothing out his hair and tucking any loose strands behind his ear #kiss his pretty hands... just all over just hold it to my face as i keep planting little kisses all over #on his finger tips where his callouses from playing guitar are eheh #anyways aouh ( blasts thunder road by bruce springsteen while thinking of ryan and me )

[yay-depression]

it is so silly when ppl are like “transitioning as an adult should be restricted/illegal because it’s not medically necessary and the results are permanent!” bc like… we do so many things in modern medicine that aren’t strictly necessary & have permanent outcomes and yet… we do them.

my mom went in for a voluntary corrective knee surgery to remove part of her knee. my dad didn’t need to have his stomach removed, he chose to do that. there’s a content creator called footlessjo who chose to have a below the knee amputation. people everywhere ask their doctors for gastric sleeve surgeries, or corrective eye surgery. not to mention almost of these surgeries have a higher regret rate than transitioning.

if we only did medical procedures or treatments when people were dying the quality of life for everyone would go down. if we trust other adults to make permanent decisions regarding things like whether they should keep an organ or a limb, then there’s no reason not to trust trans people who want to medically transition.

#transgender #transphobia #trans rights #it is just very silly to me #a lot of ppl compare transitioning to plastic surgery (which is not a bad comparison for a few reasons) #but i think it’s more useful when interacting with transphobia to compare it to stuff like this #bc things like removal of something that is ruining your quality of life (a limb or organ) is a very agreeable concept #and the only time people seem to have a problem with it is when ppl with uteruses and/or trans people do it #that’s it! #in a personal story my dad had stomach cancer when i was like 12 #it was stage one and it was very localized so my dad was given a choice #try radiation to kill it or remove your whole fucking stomach #both had a pretty good chance but obviously the stomach removal was the better chance so he did that. and no one! not a single person! #tried to talk my dad out of it! my dad was like 80 when he got stomach cancer ok. that man had a long life full of delicious food. #no one ever went ‘hey man you know if you remove your stomach you’ll never have one again right?? that’s a permanent decision’ #‘and also you might still have to do radiation anyways so it could all be for nothing so why don’t you just not change anything!’ #no one said that! they all said ‘wow you really commit huh? good for you! and good luck!’ #tw cancer mention #tw medical #tw surgery mention

[navree]

if i had a nickel for every time a famous and influential batman story arc had both superman and jason todd playing a pivotal role, i'd have four nickels, which really isn't a lot but it is weird that it's happened four separate times over three decades

#personal #no like literally i'm not kidding #superman is in death in the family's last chapter and obviously death in the family is a big story #for both jason and bruce #in knightfall bruce is having this sort of slomo psychological breakdown where he keeps thinking of jason #(and then relives his murder under fear toxin) #and it's also heavily implied that him not dealing with the death of superman that had happened right before this #is also heavily contributing to his bad mental state and how low he's getting before bane shows up #hush of course features the first return of jason and superman is at the end of no reason at all #other than to i guess provide emotional support??? (and perform some minor surgery on bruce) #(who then takes the initiative to thank clark for being his friend which is like goddamn hush batman was doing a lot) #and then superman shows up AGAIN in under the red hood!!! #when bruce is looking for answers on whether resurrection is possible he finishes by going to clark who immediately knows something's up #it gets weird and intimate #and obviously under the red hood is Thee big jason arc #but like yeah that's literally four of the most famous batman stories that have both jason and superman as a theme #like just goddamn.

[arthur-r]

okay hi it’s been 24 hours since surgery so i think the anesthesia is officially all gone, hi everybody i don’t have a tumor anymore which is the best thing that’s happened to me in like a month. and i’m not supposed to go out and work or anything for 3 to 5 days which means i’m basically just hanging out

#yesterday was terrifying oh my friggin god i had an iv and everything and doctors treating me like a little kid #and i’m pretty sure the anesthesia was in the thing they gave me to breathe even though they said it was gonna be in the iv because it didnt #start working until i breathed it in which means the doctors lied and i don’t like it when doctors lie and it felt like my heart was stopped #but i guess it started back up after i fell asleep but it was terrifying while it lasted but that was just a couple seconds #and then i spilled my guts to the nurse after and i’m just really hoping it doesn’t cause me troubles someday cause i’m not sure what i said #except for the stuff that i wrote down right after which included something about getting married which i don’t think i want to do i just #have been watching a lot of married at first sight with my mom and i’ll blame it on that #and also apparently i kept asking her if her job is good and suggesting i should do her job because it seemed super fun #which. anesthetic nurse?? clearly not for me if i have any of my wits about me at all #anyway i’m back now and probably good but still not allowed to drive and stuff so sorry if i end up being ridiculous again #but yeah hi good morning my parents have not been leaving each other alone it’s been at least an hour of shouting per day the past #three or four consecutive days at least. i think more than that cause there have been really early mornings consistently that wake me up #so i’ve just been trying to power through that and it gets extra hard when i hadn’t had surgery yet and always thinking about it #although now i had my surgery yet and i’m just thinking about medical bills and how the guy called it unusual and now that he removed the #tumor he’s sending it to the lab to be investigated and what if it wasn’t benign or what if it’s gonna be chronic or what if so many things #and so it’s not really done hanging over my head. especially with this zig zag scar that might never leave #in other news my mom took me thrifting on thursday to make up for being heading into surgery and i got some red corduroy pants #which are similar to my orange red jeans except for they aren’t tiny and hard to feel good about my weight in #which is nothing about actual weight because at this point i am so comfortable with any type of weight for myself and of course others #it’s just that self consciousness is stored in wearing too tight clothes and knowing everyone around you thinks you look ridiculous #anyway just bought red pants that fit me better than my other ones ever had. and now i can maybe sell some of my blue jeans i can’t do those #i only wear grey and red and tan jeans and my one pair of yellow joggers no matter how hard i try i can’t deal with the blue ones #so having another pair of red stuff will do really well for me i think. but now i’m hyper focusing on those jeans to stop thinking about the #other stuff going on in my life. and i’m sorry shdhdf the point is i’m here now and probably good as far as cognizance goes #i feel like if i’m able to think of the word cognizance off the top of my head i must be good. so yeah hi!!!! #it’s good to be here. i’m sure i’ll delete this later. ask me to tag this there’s so much stuff going on in it cause i’m just talking #hospital tw #surgery tw #weight discussion

[enbyboiwonder]

This man is one of the many commoners who have come to Beorunna’s Well to help see to the various needs of the soldiers in camp.

On the second floor of the drinking house in Beorunna’s Well, there’s a sleeping commoner in one of the eastern rooms for whom a female model and female portrait is used, but who is described as a man in his bio. It’s likely a simple copy-paste error—there’s a sleeping woman in the second eastern room and a sleeping man each in the two northern rooms, and all four of their descriptions are identical save for “woman” replacing “man” for the commoner in the second east room—but the effect is that there’s a canon trans character in the game.

#nwn #ebw.op #ebw plays forgotten realms #now i'm wondering what transitioning would be like for those who would want to in faerûn #is there a spell to give you the body you would have had had you been born the opposite sex? #is surgery even a thing or is it all spells (and potions but those are also spells so) #do they know what hormones are? #are they different between the various races? #i wonder if you'd have to understand what estrogen and testosterone are to make a spell and/or potion #that's basically the fantasy equivalent of hrt #how many trans/enby folk could afford to transition other than socially if that's something they wanted #hmmm and now with tomi's tale this ch being about his start as a mage #i wanna make a new character whom he knew as the girl who apprenticed at the shop he frequently sold his master’s items to #with whom he had a short and sweet romance in the time leading up to him leaving #but that 'girl' was actually a boy who wasn't out yet #and eventually he enrolls in neverwinter academy and transitions (not necessarily in that order) #and they later meet again and he ofc recognizes tomi but tomi doesn't recognize him #hmmm unless i make him the hero of undrentide… #i may need to actually play that or at least hotu if i go that route #esp if i'm actually gonna /write/ anything for it instead of just fantasizing… #plus i gotta find out if calimshan is a hin city or if other races live there too; can't make a character if you don't know their race #wait was it calimshan or calimport. shoot. darn my terrible memory #def taking screenshots of all my convos w him next play-thru. and hotu if i actually manage to make it that far #anyway i made another character recently too: james arna #a buff lady who was a weaponsmith before she became an adventurer (fighter) #she fights with a blade she forged herself #i forgot to make her buff when i made her character tho :( i got distracted w hair colors… #also haven't decided which hero she should be - tho i'm currently playing sou w her

[inkskinned]

you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.

(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)

but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.

(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)

there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.

(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)

you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.

(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)

you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.

in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.

but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.

they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.

it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.

#spilled ink #warm up #can you tell what i'm mad about today specifically #i will say that there are a LOT of things that go into this. like a lot. this is ungendered and unspecific for a reason #it isn't just sexism. it's also racism. and ableism. and honestly classism. #and before a healthcare professional reads this as a personal attack: i understand ur burnt out #we are ALSO burnt out. your situation is also dire. this is not an attack on you. #this is a commentary on the incredible amounts of bigotry that lie at the heart of capitalism #where people have to pay money out of pocket to be told to fuck off. #your job is important. so is our humanity. and if you cannot accept that people are fucking mad as hell #at the industry - you are probably not listening . #anyway at some point im gonna write a piece about sexism specifically in medical shit #but i don't want terfs clowning in it bc they can't understand nuance #> it is true that ppl w/a uterus are more likely to experience medical malpractice & dismissal globally #> it is also true that trans people experience an equally fucked up and bad time in the medical field #> great news! the medical industrial complex is an equal opportunity life ruiner :) #(if you find it necessary to go into a debate about biology while discussing medical malpractice #i want to warn you that you're misunderstanding the issue. because guess what. #cis MEN might experience this. particularly black men. particularly disabled men. #so YES having a uterus can lead to more trouble for you. but this happens a LOT. #instead of fighting those ALSO experiencing your pain.... try working WITH them. #which btw. is like. actual feminism.)

[dudeitiskarev]

I Want to Hold Your Hand | Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau female reader

Summary: Hotch sends you home and you almost die, which only makes him realize how much he truly loves you.

Word count: 2.4k.

Tags/warnings: hurt/little comfort; season 1 Hotch my beloved <3; canon typical violence; Haley and Jack don’t exist in this universe oopsies; angst with happy ending; Hotch is a baby; probably very inaccurate medical talk bc all I know is from Grey’s; not beta read + English isn’t my first language so good luck with that.

Author’s note: remember when I said I was probably done writing for a Hotch? Turns out all I had to do was stop taking my antidepressant 🙄 anyway, don’t get your hopes high. I just needed to take a break from my never-ending Spence fic so I wrote this. Which is basically a rewrite of what happened with Elle. I just wanted to make Hotch suffer a little so I hope you like it!

MASTERLIST

A few hours ago, Aaron kissed the top of your head and sent you back to the hotel with a police officer.

Now, he was in a hospital waiting room with his heart in his throat, hoping the doctor would show up with good news.

You’d been attacked in your hotel room, and it was his fault.

“They’re gonna set up a bed for you in her room.” Jason walked in with a cup of coffee for Aaron. His fourth one already.

“She’s… not out of surgery yet,” Aaron shut his eyes. “We don’t know if —”

“The hospital chief, I know him.” Gideon sort of smiled. “I asked him if he could go check on her. All I know is that they’re closing her up now.”

The words began to sound far and faded as if Aaron was underwater. His vision blurred and his legs would’ve given up if he wasn’t sitting down already.

It was his soul returning to his body.

He didn’t want to get his hopes high, though. If they were closing you up it meant you were alive, but nothing else. There could be a hundred things wrong with you while being alive.

All he could do was nod and put his hands together over his lips like a prayer.

You were alive.

“The doctor should be here with the updates any minute now.” Jason sat next to Aaron and gave him a gentle tap on his back.

Gideon knew. Even when Hotch hadn’t told anyone about his feelings—not even you—he spent most of his day with profilers so of course the best one in his team knew about it.

“I’m heading back to the hotel soon,” Gideon continued. “See what the hell happened. Why… How did they let the unsub enter her room. Garcia should be landing soon. We need to check every security camera.” He smacked his tongue in disappointment and shook his head.

Aaron rose from his seat and tried his best to at least let his shoulders relax but every bit of him had turned into concrete.

“Where are Reid and Morgan?” He asked, pacing back and forth and stretching his neck from one side to the other. Even in moments like this, he needed to know where the rest of his people were. Especially in moments like this.

“Back at the local PD,” Gideon answered.

“JJ?”

“She’s talking to the hotel manager, making sure none of the employees makes any declaration to the press before we catch the guy.”

Aaron nodded, and soon, the doctor walked into the room with the updates.

“Surgery was a success,” he began. “We managed to repair all the damage and save her lung. Now, she flatlined once in the ambulance and then again during surgery so her brain has been through a lot.”

It wasn’t the time to profile anyone, but the way the doctor couldn’t keep eye contact for longer than two seconds told Aaron he was aiming at something more serious.

“Just tell us.” Aaron rubbed his thumb with his fingers.

“She’s not breathing on her own yet and according to her EEG, her last exam, her brain is swollen. It may take her a while to wake up.” The doctor gulped. “If she wakes up.”

Aaron’s entire world crumbled once again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked to a corner to pull himself together.

This was his fault. You might never wake up and it was his fault.

“When can we see her?” Gideon asked for him.

“You can see her now but… you need to be prepared. A machine is breathing for her. There’s a tube down her throat and it might be a lot to look at.”

Just picturing you like that turned his stomach upside down.

God, if you don’t ever wake up—

“She’s gonna wake up.” Penelope’s voice entered the room and so did the light she carried everywhere.

She was one of Aaron’s comfort people. If Penelope was there, there was hope.

“Garcia,” Jason said in a don’t tone.

“She’s strong.” Penelope walked up to Hotch anyway. “And people wake up from comas. Miracles happen and—” Her eyes filled with tears once she touched Hotch’s arm to get his attention. “She needs us, she needs you. And we need her.”

Garcia also knew, apparently. And if she knew without being a profiler, everyone else knew.

“I found this.” She handed Hotch a Polaroid picture of you. You were leaning on Garcia’s desk, your arms folded over your chest and with your sweet, sweet smile. There was the hope. “I took it a while ago and kept it on my desk along with the others but…”

Aaron took it with a shaky hand. You were mesmerizing.

“García,” Gideon insisted.

A nurse interrupted to let them know they could see you now.

“You go,” Gideon said to Hotch, taking a step back. “Just call me if anything changes. Garcia, you’re coming with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Penelope gave Hotch one last hopeful smile before following Jason out.

Aaron looked at your photo again and took deep breaths to gather himself as walked to the endless hall that took him to you.

“We’ll set up your bed in a few.” The nurse smiled at him, gesturing for him to go in. “She looks good. It might not look like it because of all the machines but she’s doing good. She’s a strong woman.”

Aaron said a quiet thanks before the nurse left.

It was just you and him.

The steady beeping of the machine brought him a sense of comfort—it meant you were alive—yet his feet were hesitant to take him next to you. He stood at the door for a moment, watching you from afar.

As the doctor had said, it was a lot to look at. It reminded him of the last time he saw someone close to him like this: his father. The difference was that back then, he couldn’t wait for his dad to die.

Today, he’d found himself praying multiple times to a god he wasn’t even sure existed most times.

He dared to move and when he reached your side, he almost crumbled. You had a few bruises on your left cheek, your knuckles were split—you even had a broken finger, and you looked beautiful as ever. He wished he could see the twinkle of your eyes, hear your voice, catch you smiling at him.

Guilt brewed at the pit of his stomach again. He should’ve gone with you. He should’ve been with you.

He lifted one hand to stroke your head and tears welled up as soon as his skin touched yours. His chin quivered and he sniffled quietly as tears threatened to spill. He used the heel of his hands to dry them away. He couldn’t cry, even if you were in a coma and couldn’t see him like this—broken. You believed people’s energy had effects on others, and you needed him to be strong. He needed to be more like you.

His bed was set soon after, right next to you. His eyes were heavy, and his muscles were sore. Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to lie down. He was scared to close his eyes. What if you died while he was asleep? He stayed sitting down, holding your hand and never losing sight of you.

“It’s raining,” he said out loud, talking to you. “Every time it rains I think of you.”

He smiled at the memories. You’d shown up at his office for your interview drenching, and he was smitten from the very first moment he laid eyes on you.

“Agent Hotchner,” your perky voice caught him off guard. No one inside the BAU building was perky—besides Garcia.

You stood by the door, both hands behind your back waiting for his signal to come in.

“Please.” He gestured with his hand to the seat across from him.

He took half a second to study you quickly. Raindrops were gathered over the shoulders of your blazer and your mascara was a bit smudged under your eyes.

“Forgot your coat, agent?” He commented, peeling his eyes off you and reading through your resume.

“Didn’t think I’d be raining by the time I arrived, sir. I don’t keep an umbrella in my car either. I apologize for my… appearance.”

It wasn’t your appearance that got you on his team, it was your outstanding resume. It made him wonder why you chose to apply to the Behavioral Analysis Unit instead of staying at ViCAP. Your performance there was impeccable.

“I wasn’t feeling comfortable there anymore,” was your answer. “And I want to seek other paths, sir. And I know I’m a good fit for your team.”

You started the very next day, and he partnered up with you to keep an eye on you during your first cases. You were a quick thinker, were fast on your feet, and stayed calm under critical situations.

Not once he felt at a disadvantage in the field for working with the new kid, which only showed him how good you naturally were. He was drawn to you and it wasn’t just because of your professionalism.

It was your fast food order. It was the first joke you ever made that only made him laugh. It was your perfume, the way you spoke with your hands, and how you raised your brows when making a point.

Everything about you made him take a deep breath. You made him dizzy. Lightheaded. Drunk.

Exactly how he felt right now while holding your hand, except that now, the room was spinning at the mere thought of losing you.

“I love you,” he murmured, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your bruised knuckles with shaky lips. “I love you.”

He’d never said it before. He didn’t know he did until now.

“God, I love you so much. From the moment I saw you, you lit up my life. You made it better, made me better.” He kept talking to you, hoping that his voice would heal everything inside you. “I can’t lose you. I won’t make it.”

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.

The rain stopped, the hours passed, and the sun never came out.

It’d been two weeks and he’d already made the habit of reading you at night.

“Studies have shown that playing music they really like and talking to the person in a coma increases their chances of waking up,” Spencer had said the day the entire team came to visit you.

Most nights he read case files. Others, he liked to read poetry.

You still hadn’t woken up, but the music, the poetry, and the flowers didn’t stop.

“I hope you don’t mind if I read something by Neruda,” Aaron said as he sat on the chair next to you. “Maybe not Neruda.”

It was one of those nights where hope had watered down with his tears.

He put the book down next to you and held your hand. He hadn’t stopped holding your hand; he hadn’t stopped kissing it either. He sighed deeply and stood up to draw the blinds, turning his back to you.

A loud smack against the floor startled him, making him turn around. The book he’d left next to you had fallen. He didn’t think he’d left it at the edge of the bed, but he picked it up without much curious and went to put it where it was.

Your hand twitched when he grazed your knuckles casually.

Then it twitched again—harsher—and a soft whimper came from your chest. That sound definitely came out of your body.

Aaron was quick to check on you, towering over you and watching you closely. Your eyelids started to move and the next thing he knew, he was making eye contact with you.

Those beautiful twinkling eyes took his breath away.

“We need a doctor in here!” He was quick to react, pressing the call button.

Nurses stormed inside and moved him out of the way to assist you.

“She’s awake. She’s fighting the tube,” was all he heard before a thousand tingles rushed through him.

You were awake.

Your doctor arrived soon after to examine you and Aaron stood there as they took the tube out.

You coughed and writhed with discomfort.

“Can you tell me your name?” Your doctor moved a small flashlight in front of your eyes.

You blinked a few times and searched around the room. Your eyes landed on Aaron. “Hotch?”

Your soft voice traveled to him and enveloped his heart, mending every bit that was broken.

“Hi,” he merely said.

You shook your head and said your name instead. Your doctor asked some more questions like your birthday, where you worked at and what was the last thing you remembered, and the entire time your eyes were trained on Aaron.

“It’s vague.” You took a sharp breath. “I think I was attacked but I don’t know how. I can assume by this unglued scar, though.” You put your palm on your chest.

“We’re still going to do some tests,” Your doctor said. “But you’re great. Pupils are responsive, your lungs sound healthy and there are no signs of brain damage. No memory loss. No speech loss either.”

“How soon can she go home?” Aaron asked, taking another step closer. He finally stood by your side, and you reached for his hand.

This was you. Sweet and caring even at your worst.

“I’d like to keep her under observation for a couple of days, then she can go. But just so you know, you can’t fly for at least two weeks after open-chest surgery.”

The doctor gave you some other indications before leaving, then it was just the two of you as it’d been for the past two weeks. Though now he got to see the twinkle of your eyes, hear your voice, and catch you smiling at him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, tilting your head to the side like a puppy.

“I sent you away and—“ he raised his brows.

“Don’t.” You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t… blame yourself.”

“I should’ve come with you. I should’ve— god, you almost died. You almost died,” he repeated in a whisper, shutting his eyes with pain.

The guilt was still there.

“But I didn’t.”

“I was so scared,” he admitted, daring to look back at you.

“I… don’t remember much. Just bits and pieces but I do remember that I wasn’t scared. I think. I… channeled you at that moment.” You laughed. “I remember thinking, Hotch wouldn’t be scared, he would put up a fight, so I did. I fought the guy, which got me almost killed but I wasn’t scared.” You lifted your hand and cradled his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek. “You have a beard.”

He chuckled. “Barely.”

“It looks good. I like it.”

He didn’t like it much, but he was grateful it was there so you wouldn’t see how hard he was blushing. He poured you some water and handed it you to distract himself from it.

“Where are we?” You then asked, taking a sip from the straw.

“Seattle.” Aaron raised his brows while licking his lips.

Last time you two were in Seattle, you’d kissed for the first time.

“Oh,” you mirrored his smirk. “So that’s gonna be like a three-day road trip back to Quantico?”

“It’s either that or two more weeks in Seattle until you can fly there,” he responded.

“Both sound amazing, don’t you think?” you scanned his face up and down and heat rushed to his cheeks again. “Thank you for staying with me, Aaron.”

I love you, he thought.

“How could I not?” he said instead.

Never said there would be a love confession now did I 🤭 But don’t worry, hotch confesses his love during the road trip <33333 also the title is a The Beatles song bc he played The Beatles a lot while reader was in a coma. And bc he held her hand a lot.

I hope you liked it!!!!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[pathologicalreid]

heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.” 

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid dilf agenda #margot's requests

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

mommy issues AND daddy issues. she’s the whole package

#Mouse talks! #this is a post about. Elizabeth. obviously #I've talked a lot about her mommy issues but also?? #Mr. Corday can do no wrong! but she dedicated her entire life to being the son he never had and it still wasn't good enough #she had to LEAVE THE COUNTRY to be recognized as her own person for her own accomplishments and skills #and she still takes. years. to stop associating herself and her skill with him #something something the long and inescapable shadow of your parents haunts you forever #it's how she INTRODUCES HERSELF in Ambush it's there in s5 when her dad shows up and suddenly all she wants to do is impress him #would LOVE to rewatch Isabelle's visit with purpose to examine for this specifically bc I KNOW it's there too #bc of Isabelle's resentment of Elizabeth having 'chosen' Charles via surgery and disdain for medicine culminating in her actually witnessing #her daughter in action and being like OH. I'M... PROUD OF MY CHILD???? and exPRESSING THAT for possibly the first time ever lol #and I would LOVE to see if that separation of Charles-and-surgery and Elizabeth-and-surgery for Isabelle facilitates a similar separation #for Elizabeth herself bc... her issues with her parents are so inextricably interconnected it is impossible for themnot to affect each other #like. she absolutely takes ownership of her own knowledge/skill/capabilities. s4 sees her learning to behave less as her father's daughter #and more as her own person and this is followed through in s5 as she really comes into her own #but PERSONALLY. if I were writing it and she were the protagonist (she is the protagonist of my heart) #that would be the final severance of that particular thread (recognition of the self through the other etc etc) #and it does crop up again in s9 when she tries to go back - but by that point she's evolved too much to fit into the same space she occupied #before she left London for Chicago. she's not just 'Charles Corday's daughter' anymore. she's her own person!!!! #do u love the color of my tags... sorry not sorry I can't shut up about her and never will <3

[bumbleboa]

I am back with more sketches for @calysto1395 's AU!

Fic snippet of her writing behind the cut:

EDIT: Fic is also now available HERE

“Fine, fine! I’m going. Stop shoving me.” Law throws his hands up and steps onto the train.

“I don’t want to see you for at least 24 hours.” Bepo retorts, his paws on his hips and blocking the doorway like a bouncer. If Law wasn’t so fucking exhausted from a ten hour surgery session he would have a clever comeback right about now. As it stands, he can only repeat Bepo’s words at him in a mocking tone. He flips Bepo off as the train doors close between them for good measure before he turns to find a seat as they slowly roll out of the station. 

There is as usual only one other person on the train. Hiriluk Hospital Station is usually the one where everyone gets off as the line continues out of town into the shitty outer district where Law has his dirt cheap apartment. It’s a good thing too because Law usually has no patience for anyone after work and before work he needs to save what little he has for his patients. 

His usual companion is a young man, maybe around Law’s age, who has tan skin and green hair who nods at him when Law falls into one of the empty seats. He’s always there before Law gets on and doesn’t get off anywhere before Law does. Law sees him as often as he does his coworkers so he would say they are almost friends. Save for the part where Law has no idea who he is besides a passenger and incredibly attractive.

“Trouble in paradise?” The guy asks, snorting with a smirk. He’s huddled into one of the seats that run sideways along the walls of the train, jean jacket and a hoodie today, legs propped up on his huge backpack with the long case sticking out of it. 

Law just rolls his eyes and lets his head fall against the headrest. It’s part of the routine at this point. Guy will make a comment or greet him and then it will be silent for the rest of the ride, just the way Law likes it. The stranger on the train might be Law’s favorite person, right after Bepo. Then again Bepo humiliated and bullied him onto the train today so maybe the stranger has taken top spot. 

“You got blood on your cheek.” The guy says and Law feels the annoyance at the routine being disturbed before he processes the words. His eyes blink open and he rubs at his cheek with his sleeve, feels the crusted flakes rub off and sees them clinging to the fabric of his hoodie. 

Law stares at it for a long time, feels his eyes losing focus for a minute before he blinks and shakes his head. Maybe Bepo had a point in sending him home. He sighs deeply, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones. “Yep.” He says and rubs his cheek once more just to make sure he got it all. 

Stranger just gives him a nod when he shoots a questioning glance at him before he buries his hands in his jacket pockets and closes his eyes, settling deep into his seat. Law takes it as his cue to do the same. Just to rest his eyes for a little bit. He has about twenty minutes until he’s at his station and the conductor usually doesn’t check tickets this late at night. Law tells himself it's just for a few minutes. Just until his retinas stop burning. 

Then before he knows it there is a hand on his shoulder. He jerks, flailing wildly and smacking something before he gets his bearings. 

The stranger is standing next to his seat, looking down at him, hand falling to his side from where it had hung outstretched between them. “That’s your stop right?” He asks. 

Law blinks, confused. Head swirling to look outside the window to see the Tang Station sign out front. “Shit.” He manages to say, scrambling with his bag to hustle outside just in time before the doors close on him. He’s catching his breath on the platform, heart racing in his chest when he looks back at the train and sees the guy standing there still. He leans down a little to wave through the window as it sets back into motion and Law’s sleep deprived brain doesn’t manage to respond in any way before they are out of view.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #zolaw #op train AU #I love this AU a lot if you couldn't already tell #my art

[zvdvdlvr]

— Alive and Breathing.

— 🩷. Synopsis. Spencer gets a phone call.

— 🩷. Warnings. Angst. Lung injuries. Back injuries. Blood but nothing descriptive. Possible medical term errors. Hospital. Fluff. Unedited. I want an octopus. Worried!Spencer. Crying. Pet names. Welder!Reader. Female reader. — 🩷. Other welder!reader fics. Lunch Break. Learning to Live Again.

Spencer’s phone rang, disturbing the silence that blanket the office. It was a paperwork day: the time had finished up the night before and since it was so late Hotch let everyone postpone their work until tomorrow. He looked at it, confused. The ringtone was different than the one he had specially for you, so he was worried. He clicked answer and held it up to his ear.

“Is this a Spencer Reid?” A (tired) woman asked the second he picked up.

“Uh…” Spencer paused, eyebrows furrowing even more, “yes. Why?”

“Your wife, y/n, was found outside a… Loco Fiesta Motel. She is currently recovering from extensive surgery, but the last thing she asked for before going under was to call you,” the woman explained patiently.

Spencer felt his stomach drop. “I- I- I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He slammed his thumb down on the ‘end call’ harder than intended. Emily peered at Spencer from her paperwork, Derek doing the same.

“What’s happenin’, pretty boy?” Derek asked, watching his best friend pack all of his necessities in his bag.

“Y/n. She- she’s jn the hospital and it’s bad. I- I need to go. I need to go…” Soencer rambled, tears blurring his cision as he fumbled for his keys. You were his everything: if something happened to you Spencer wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you-

“Hey, hey, hey. Take a breath, Reid,” Enily soothed, gingerly taking the keys from Reid’s hands. “We’ll go. Just let me go tell Hotch, okay? Get a water with Morgan and I’ll be right back.”

Spencer’s shuddering form was swiftly embraced by Derek’s as Emily went up to Hotch’s office.

She walked in, making Hotch look up immediately. “Y/n is in the hospital. Spencer said it’s pretty bad. Can-“

Hotch stood up. “We’ll all go. Dave’ll come by later,” he explained as he hastily tucked his gun in it’s holster and his badge on his belt. “He was out getting lunch, I’ll tell him to meet us there.”

Enily nodded, following Hotch out the door of his office. His fast steps slowed considerable as he approached Reid’s shaking form. Hotch rested a hand on his shoulder, making the youngest agent of the BAU turn. “She’ll be okay, Reid. Let’s go,” he murmured consolingly.

The entire ride to the hospital, Spencer didn’t say a word. ‘Extensive surgery’ the nurse had said. That could mean any number of things: heart surgery, lung surgery, leg surgery, literally anything. Did you fall? Did someone ambush you? Did something in your body just… stop working? Did someone do things to you? Was it even another person?

Spencer felt the anticipation growing in his stomach, growing and making him feel cold. He felt his finger twitching, remembering how they had carded through your hair the night before. His lips tightened in a straight line, he couldn’t lose you. If he lost you, he lost himself.

His foot bounced on the floor of the SUV. He couldn’t hear the sirens that Hotch had turned on to get them to their destination- the hospital- faster, couldn’t hear his own uneven breathing as his mind showed him imaged of you, couldn’t hear Emily calling his name from literally two inches away from him.

It was only when a blast of cool air from the now open door beside him did Spencer realize they were there- at the hospital.

He got out shakily, not registering Derek’s presence behind him. He inhaled and exhaled once before darting toward the doors of he hospital.

Behind him, the team followed. “You ready for this?” Derek asked Emily, struggling to even keep up with Reid.

She shrugged. “Have to be,” she answered. “I mean, I want to be here for both of them. It’s just hard to see him like that.”

“I know, Em. I know.”

“I’m looking for y/n Reid. She- she was in surgery last I heard,” Reid burst out.

“Hold on just one second, sir,” the male nurse drawled, scrolling through something on his computer. “She’s still in surgery right now. Do you know what happened?”

Spencer shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The man nodded. “From what we understand, she was working on the roof at…” he trailed off, looking through his record again.

“Loco Fiesta motel,” Spencer prompted.

“That’s the one. The harness she had used while working on the building was faulty. When she lost traction on the roof, she fell off. Mrs. Reid landed on her back. Luckily, she was wearing a construction helmet, which prevented many cerebral injuries. But, as you probably understand, a fall like that messed up her spine and could cause major damage to her legs,” he explained solemnly.

Spencer whimpered, knees threatening to give out. All he imagined was your limp body strewn out of concrete like an unwanted doll.

Gasps came from Emily and Derek. Hotch reached out fast enough to catch Spencer before his legs gave out, steadying him. “Do you have any idea how long it’ll take for the surgery to be over?” Hotch asked, a lump if emotion lodged in his throat.

“It’s hard to say, sir, but the second I hear anything, you’ll be notified,” the man assured.

Hotch simmered in emotions closely identified to rage and sadness. He knew y/n wouldn’t knowingly use faulty equipment, wouldn’t even consider accepting that job unless she knew for a fact that all of her equipment was up-to-date and guaranteed to get her through the job unharmed. Aaron vowed to prosecute the company that made the harness and to make sure their business went bankrupt.

“Let’s just, uh,” Hotch started, adjusting his grip on the man currently leaning onto him, “let’s sit down.” He silently led the team over to a seating area. Hotch set Spencer down carefully, making sure his limp arms didn’t hit anything. When Spencer was situated, Hotch leaned back and onserved the man in front of him. Spencer Reid, the man he’d knew since Spencer was 23. The man who’d gone from a ocially awkward guy who couldn’t hold a conversation with a woman for more than thirty seconds to a husband who was barely holding himself up in the hospital that his wife was currently currently being cut up in. My god, Hotch thought, kid’s grown up.

Thirteen hours later. Thirteen hours later, Spencer was shaken awake by the nurse that had previously told him what had happened to his wife.

“She’s out of surgery, sir” was all the man had to say before Spencer snapped awake and starting waking up Rossi, Hotch, Emily, JJ, Garcia, and Derek. Spencer didn’t remember Penelope or JJ coming in. “Where is she?”

The man led the way, bringing Spencer up to speed on what happened. “She crashed three times during the surgery. Mrs. Reid has bruised many columns of her spine and the fall caused internal bleeding in the stomach, lungs, and heart. The spinal contusions take about six months to a year to heal. This added with the bleeding? I’d say Mrs. Reid will have to leave work for roughly two years. She’s in a medically induced coma for the time being as we moniter her progress. But. She’s alive.”

‘Two years’ winded everyone. It felt like a literal gut punch, especially to Spencer. You loved your job. You loved working with different personalities. You loved working with your hands. You loved working. But the thing you loved most? You loved being able to come home, embraced by Spencer after a pretty rough day and Spencer insisting on massaging every inch of your body after drawing you a bath. Two. Damn. Years.

And yet, you were alive. A fall like that could have wasily killed someone: snapped their neck, splattered their brains on the pavement, organs exploding on impact… the list goes on. But you were alive. Alive and breathing.

That’s what Spencer repeated to himself as he entered the ICU. Alive and breathing. The nurse had walked the team to your room, insisting on only one people at a time: visiting hours were over, but the nurse sympathized. Hotch had nodded and shaken the nurse’s hand, gravelly voice speaking the words “You don’t know how much this means” and “Thank you so much”, ending with a quieter “From all of us”.

Alive and breathing, Spencer repeated, exhaling.

He slowly walked into the room, eyes locked on you. And the freakish amount of machines and the respirator you were hooked into. Spencer felt tears spring in his eyes as he rounded the bed to your side.

Spencer quietly tugged a chair over to your side and sat down. “Hi, baby,” he greeted. His voice shook as he gingerly took your hand in his. The calluses on your hands were comforting, something you’d always have. But after those two years…

“I brought the team, y/n. They’re- everyone’s here. Here for you,” Spencer sobbed, hiding his face in your closed hand. They were cold, Spencer observed. Too cold. Cold like the blood in Spencer’s veins when he got that damn phone call. Cold like the nights when Spencer would literally lay on top of you to get warm during the winter months (you’re basically a walking heater). Cold like the corpses Spencer saw every goddamned day. He choked on his breath. Alive and breathing, his consciousness weakly whispered. But you almost weren’t alive.

When he caught his breath, Spencer looked at your sleeping face. “I’m so sorry this happened, baby. You don’t deserve this.”

Spencer’s body shook with sobs. Somewhere deep in his heart he hoped you would magically wake up from your coma like in the movies you’d watched with Spencer. “I’ll be back in a minute, baby. I’ll- I’ll send in the team so they can go home and get some sleep,” he spoke, brushing hair out of your face and pressing a kiss to your clammy face. “I love you, wife.”

Spencer walked out, fist pressed to his mouth, struggling not to break down in front of the people he grew to call his family. “Go in and see her. Go home. Get some sleep. I’m-“ Spencer’s voice trembled as he kept his eyes locked on the floor. “I’m staying with her.”

Garcia darted into the room first, withholding tears.

Rossi approached Spencer, who was still caught in a staring contest with a floor. “Hey, kiddo. I’ll go with you to get something to eat and drink,” he said. He felt his heart break a little more when Spencer just nodded, furiously scrubbing at his eyes and when he leaned in to Rossi’s arm as Rossi led the way to the vending machine.

Penelope placed little Beanie Babies on the desk next to y/n before taking a shiddering breath. “We’re all waitin’ for you, you death-defying woman,” she whispered.

Derek immediately pulled her into a hug when she exited the room, nodding to JJ to go in next.

“Derek, she looks- she looks-“ Penelope stuttered, makeup smearing through all her tears. Derek hushed her and pulled her back into his arms. “I know, mama. I know.”

“What, uh… what are you going to do?” Emily asked Hotch. She herself felt little pinpricks in her eyes.

“Spencer needs to be here,” Hotch replied. “He’s getting the time off, I just- this is gonna tear him apart.” He dragged a hand down his face, his other hand resting on his hip. “Keep an eye on him, Emily.”

She nodded silently. JJ emerged from the room shortly after, sniffling. “I’m gonna head out, Hotch. Call me if-“

“I will. Get home safely, get some sleep,” Hotch responded.

JJ nodded.

“Go,” Hotch urged, tapping Emily’s shoulder.

A few minutes after Emily left, Derek took Penelope back home. That left Hotch.

He quietly took a seat by you, clearing his throat. He had to find the right words. “I’m glad you’re…” Aaron fiddled with the button on his suit. “I’m glad you fought as hard as you did. Thank you, y/n. Keep breathing, okay?” Aaron sat there in silence for a few more minutes until Rossi brought Spencer back.

After Aaron stood up he really looked at y/n. Her closed eyes, clammy skin, yellow complexion- Hotch assumed something happened to her liver- and memorized it. He knew this would be one of the turning points in your life and Spencer’s. And Hotch wanted to be able to be there to offer advice. “Sleep well, y/n.”

“Go see her, Dave. Then go home, alright?” Hotch murmured, patti g the man’s back.

Spencer leaned against the wall, granola bars and water bottle in hand- unopened. “I love her, Hotch.” He whispered, finally looking Aaron in the eye.

Hotch nodded. “I know you do, kid. She knows it too. Just… be here. You have all the time you need, you understand?” After Spencer nodded, Rossi left the room.

“Call me, Reid, if you need it,” Rossi told Spencer, patting his shoulder. “Good night, kid. Try to get some sleep, okay?

“I’ll try,” Spencer replied. “Good night.”

And then there was one.

Spencer entered the room and sat back down. “I’m back, my beautiful wife,” Spencer mumbled. “I won’t be leaving you anytime soon.”

Eventually Spencer fell asleep. He didn’t care about visiting hours, he just showed the nurses his badge and his sunken, bloodshot eyes and pleaded them to let him stay.

And then later when Spencer woke up, you were still alive and breathing.

#x female reader #x reader #female reader #jules writes 📓🖊 #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #blue collar!reader

[steddiecameraroll]

CW: mention of surgery and family member’s death

ao3

Eddie’s not paying attention to where he’s walking when he bumps into someone coming out of a coffee shop.

“Oh,” Eddie steps back and opens his mouth to apologize, when he looks up to see who he’d crashed into.

“You ok?” The man asks.

Eddie tries to respond, wants to respond, opens his mouth to respond but the quirk in the man’s smile is taunting him. It’s connected to a face that could make a man weak in the knees, in fact it’s doing just that right now.

“Ya good?” The man asks again this time putting his hand cautiously on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie can’t do anything but nod. “Alright, watch where you’re going, ok?”

There’s no frustration in his tone, no heat behind his words but Eddie feels like he should definitely do what he’s asking. Before Eddie can actually say anything the guy is walking away down the sidewalk in the opposite direction than Eddie needs to go.

Without thinking, Eddie turns on his heels and follows the man. He’s never done anything like this before in fact he doesn’t know why he’s doing it now, but something is pushing him to follow. He watches the soft bounce of hair on the man’s gorgeous head weave through the crowd but then suddenly disappear.

Eddie blinks a couple of times thinking his eyes have stopped working. He ducks around a few people trying to catch sight of the man but can’t find him anywhere. Maybe he’s losing his mind.

Eddie stops and puts his hands on his hips, swiveling around trying to find the guy. Where could he have gone?

Someone crashes into his back then yells at him for standing in the middle of the sidewalk, reminding him he’s going to be late for lunch with Chrissy.

He apologizes to the guy for standing, only partially sarcastically, then heads back in his original direction towards the diner he’s meeting his best friend at.

“Who was he?” Chrissy asks around a fry.

“No clue, but it was like I had to follow him. I’ve never seen him before.”

“Was he hot?” She cocks her head like she’s figured him out.

“Uh, he- I, yes, but that wasn’t why I followed him.”

“Uh huh, and getting his number isn’t a motivator at all.” She rolls her eyes and tosses her balled up straw wrapper at his head.

“Hey,” Eddie swats her trash away. “I’m serious. That wasn’t it. I don’t know, it was something else.”

Chrissy inspects him from across the table. She knows him better than he knows himself, and she knows he wouldn’t follow some random guy without a reasonable excuse.

“Did he look like someone? Remind you of anyone, maybe?”

“I don’t think so, but- maybe?” He shrugs and wishes he could put his finger on it.

He’s spent the last 30 minutes trying to figure it out but coming up blank. He can’t stop thinking about the man’s gorgeous hazel eyes glinting back at him.

Eddie slings his backpack over his shoulder and shuffles his way off the train. He’s lost in thought, like he’s been for the last several days since running into that coffee guy, and doesn’t clock the group of teenagers rushing towards the doors. They part around him, but one of them bumps into his backpack spinning him around and he stops moving just as they’re ushered into the train. The man reprimanding their behavior is standing just inside the door when Eddie realizes it’s the guy. THE guy. But before his brain sends a signal to his feet, the train door is closing and Eddie stands gawking instead.

When the train starts moving slowly, Eddie’s brain jump starts and he’s rushing toward the train. He can see the guy standing near the window so he starts waving his hands trying to get his attention. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if the guy happens to notice him, but he’s feeling a compulsive need to try.

The train starts speeding up and he still hasn’t noticed Eddie.

“Shit, excuse me. Excuse me! Sorry, shit, sorry!” He weaves around other passengers and races along the train continuing to wave his hands.

He runs out of platform a few feet later and just as he drops his arms he thinks he sees a flash of those hazel eyes peering through the glass. He’s panting hard, his side twinging slightly, when he runs his hand through his hair. That was the most physical activity he’s gotten in awhile, and that’s kind of embarrassing.

When he turns around he realizes he’s almost alone on the platform. Which also means he’s going to be late to work.

“You saw him again? On the train?” Chrissy is munching on half of a banana nut muffin.

“No, yes, but I wasn’t on the train. I was getting off and he got on.”

“He didn’t see you?”

“No, I tried, too. I ran along the side of the train trying to get his attention.” Eddie swivels back and forth in his desk chair while chewing on his thumbnail.

“Ran? You, ran? Next to the train?”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs and rolls his eyes slightly.

“What were you expecting to do if he did see you?”

“I hadn’t thought that far,” which was true.

“So then he sees you and what? Were you just going to wave? Stand there like a goober and wiggle your fingers at him? I mean, Eddie, you gotta think these things through.”

She has a point but she should know he’s more of an act first think about it later kinda guy. Plus, who knows maybe the guy has been thinking about Eddie just as much has he has. Maybe he would see Eddie and know exactly what to do. It’s possible. Not likely, but possible.

“No?” He lies because that’s exactly what he would’ve done.

“You’re pathetic. You gotta stop obsessing about this dude. You interacted with him for approximately 15 seconds.”

“I knoooooooww,” Eddie whines. “But I can’t explain it, Chris. Ugh. Do you think he’s someone I went to school with? Maybe elementary school so he looks different but there’s something that seems familiar?”

“Why are you asking me? I have no idea. I think you should ask your penis.” She tilts her head causing her ponytail to swish slightly.

“What!?” Eddie squeaks.

“Come on, you’re attracted to him, and I think little Eddie is driving this ridiculous obsession. That’s it.” She tosses her muffin wrapper in the trash can and slaps her palms on top of Eddie’s desk. “You’re getting laid. This weekend we’re going out and I don’t want to hear it.”

“I can’t get out of this can I?” He loves this woman, but he kinda wanted to stay home this weekend and get his one shot campaign finished.

“Nope,” she says with a giggle.

“What about him?” Chrissy yells into Eddie’s ear while stealthily pointing across the bar.

Eddie turns to see where she’s pointing and she’s got to be kidding. “Do you know me at all? No.” He sighs and turns back to his beer.

“Come oooon, you’re not even trying. Ooh what about him?”

Eddie takes a quick glance before shaking his head. “I think this place is a dud tonight.”

“You’re just picky.” She swirls her drink aimlessly looking around the room.

The place is pretty packed for a Friday night, but they were able to grab a couple stools at the bar top, which Eddie is grateful for. Chrissy is spun around facing outward. Her foot is bouncing to the beat of the music playing overhead. She’s all dolled up, on the hunt herself but making sure to keep an eye out for Eddie.

“Ooh,” she gasps and Eddie tries to see what she’s looking at. “She’s pretty.”

“Where?”

“Over there, near the pole.”

Eddie cranes his neck and sees a taller woman with a short bob, wearing an oversized blazer, sleeves shoved to her elbows, and laughing at someone standing behind the pole.

“You should go talk to her.” Eddie nudges her foot.

“You think?” Chrissy keeps her eyes pointed on the woman. “Oh, she’s…hmm,” Chrissy bites her bottom lip and smiles shyly. “She looked at me. She did it again. Oh.”

Eddie hides a laugh behind his drink and risks a glance across the bar. He catches the woman nervously glancing at Chrissy and immediately thinks they’re a match made in heaven.

“Go, I’ll be fine.” Eddie nudges her again. “I’m gonna go smoke anyway.”

“Ok, be safe out there.”

She hates that he has to go out back to smoke. It’s a creepy alley behind a gay bar. The worst he’s ever run into back there are a few rushed blowjobs and some handies. People usually leave him alone, though. He doesn’t really give off a friendly vibe.

Eddie finishes off his beer and slides off his stool with a stretch of his arms.

“Good luck, Cunningham. Go get yourself a lesbian.” He shakes her shoulder gently and heads toward the back door.

He takes a deep breath when the night air hits him. It feels good after spending time in the stuffy bar. He shuffles his way down from the door, and finds a spot against the brick wall. He then pulls out his crinkled pack of Camels, plucks a cigarette out, and slots it between his lips.

While holding his lighter to the tip of his cigarette, the back door slides open and he turns to watch someone walk out.

Oh my god

It’s him

Eddie’s cigarette falls from his lips as his mouth gapes open. He’s moving on instinct towards the man he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about for the past seven days. The man sees Eddie approaching and he gives him a nervous smile. Eddie realizes he doesn’t recognize him. That fact stings more than it should.

“You,” Eddie says with a shakey breath.

“Um, you ok, man?”

“Who are you?” Eddie scans over the man’s face trying to piece it together.

He sees two perfectly placed moles on the man’s cheek and two more along his neck. Nothing that is triggering a memory though.

“Uh, Steve? Do I know you?”

Eddie ducks his head and starts looking over other parts of the man’s body. More moles line the man’s arms and his exposed shoulders from under his tank top. Eddie’s eyes catch on a tattoo on the man’s pec through the gap in his shirt.

“What’s-what’s that? " Eddie cocks his head. "That date?”

The man, Steve, looks down noticing Eddie seeing the tattoo.

“It’s the day I was saved.”

“What?” Eddie’s eyes flick up to Steve’s before dropping back to the tattoo.

It’s the day Eddie’s mom died.

“I had a heart transplant.”

Eddie’s hands drop to his sides and his face slowly relaxes as he starts to wonder if it’s possible.

“Do you- uh, do you know who…? Who your donor was?”

Steve furrows his brows and cocks his head. “Uh, yeah?”

“Who? Who was it? I-I lost my mom that day.” Steve’s face softens and Eddie watches as the man looks him over.

“Elizabeth-“

“Munson?” Steve nods and Eddie gasps covering his mouth with his hand in shock. “Oh my god.”

“She saved my life.”

Tears well in Eddie’s eyes as he reaches his fingers toward Steve. He asks for silent permission to touch and Steve nods. Eddie huffs a heavy breath as he presses his hand to Steve’s chest. He lets his fingers spread out, pushing his palm against him. Before Eddie can take a deep breath he feels the pound of Steve’s heartbeat against his hand.

His mom’s heartbeat.

Eddie looks up with a wet chuckle and sees matching tears in Steve’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to make it. I was on my last leg and then suddenly there was a viable heart.” Steve places his hands over Eddie’s and stares into his eyes. “Thank you.”

Eddie nods and swallows back the sob he wants to release. Steve runs his thumb comfortingly across Eddie’s knuckles and gives him a sad smile.

“I knew there was something.” Eddie shakes his head. “Since I saw you last week, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Last week?” Steve furrows his brows and then widens his eyes in realization. “The coffee shop. You bumped into me.” He smiles at Eddie fondly.

“Yeah,” Eddie says a little embarrassed. “Then again at the train station. You were with some kids.”

“That was you. I thought I saw you but wasn’t sure.”

“I might’ve chased the train a little.” Eddie shrugs.

“Chased the train? For me?”

“A little.” Eddie’s hand is still pressed against Steve’s chest so he can feel when the man’s pulse kicks up.

“And now you’re here. Somehow. It’s like the universe wanted us to meet.” Steve bites his bottom lip and Eddie suddenly wants to bite it too.

Now that he knows why he felt so pulled toward Steve, he can actually look at the man. It’s like a fog is lifted and he can see Steve in all his beautiful glory.

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

“Do you wanna get a drink? With me?” Steve asks nervously, and if he could read Eddie’s mind he wouldn’t be so nervous.

“Yes,” he nods quickly. “I’d love to.”

Steve keeps his grip on Eddie’s hand and laces their fingers together before pulling them toward the door.

“I’m here with my friend Robin, but she is getting hit on by the cutest little blonde, so she won’t bother us.”

“My friend Chrissy is a cute little blonde. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

coffee? ☕️🍩💕

#I made myself cry #inspired by an episode of Monk I watched last night #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiecameraroll posts #steddie ficlet #steddie fics

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Girlfriend Interrupted

Summary: Reader had a bad day at work and Spencer's complaints are not the best timing.

Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/comfort

Content warnings: Mentions of food, hunger, and prolonged time without eating

Word count: 887

The bus rumbles across the old asphalt and bricked crosswalks while hissing at stops. All you could do was lay your head against the window and try not to fall asleep or accidentally smash it into the glass after hitting a precarious pothole. You were three stops away from home and all you wanted to do was lock yourself in the apartment and gorge on the least healthy meal you could find. 

You had a healthy meal planned for lunch today actually; a salad filled to the nines (the nines being roasted chicken, nuts, pomegranate, and honeydew). It was perfect. So perfect in fact that someone stole it from the fridge when you were in the middle of beating a deadline. And even after being successful in that, your boss still found time to yell at you for something another co-worker did. You weren’t sure which one, but it wasn’t you. You’ve been nibbling on a granola bar on the ride, but your mind is occupied by the leftover lasagna in the fridge.

And you find it there, waiting for you under the stark refrigerator light. You yank it from the bottom shelf and don’t even consider looking at the microwave. You barely looked at the dishes you left in the sink after breakfast this morning and remember how behind you were when getting ready for work, telling yourself you’d put them in the dishwasher before Spencer got home. You did say you’d do that. And Spencer doesn’t like dishes in the sink.

 Instead, you grab the blanket from the back of the couch and settle in the dark, pulling up a YouTube video you’ve been meaning to watch. You rest your phone against the book spines Spencer had specifically picked out to be displayed for their guests (mainly your parents during the holidays and his co-workers). Most of them are about astronomy, nothing you’ve cared to pick up. They’re detailed enough to keep Spencer entertained and sturdy enough to keep your phone upright while you slurped up tomato sauce and ricotta cheese. And so you snuggled in like a kid watching Saturday cartoons, sugary cereal at the ready.

And it’s when you think of your boyfriend again that the door behind you opens with a creak. The thud of his cane echoes across the wood floor as that same door clicks as he shuts it. You manage to say “Hey, Spence” through your glorious mouthful of a rushed dinner. But Spencer says nothing back. He’s been struggling not just with his knee acting up again after his previous surgery, but with being unable to travel with his team. The thud of Spencer’s cane trails from the entryway to the kitchen. It was a tough day for both of you, no doubt.

Your sympathies started to wane though when Spencer interrupted your video.

“Ugh, Y/N. I told you I don’t like dishes in the sink.”

“I know.” You tried to say without a mouthful. “And I’m sorry. I was running late for work and needed to get going before—”

“And you left the fridge door open, too. We talked about needing to cut back before our lease renewal. The National Weather Service expects an uptick in accumulation by late December.”

You pause your video and turn in your seat. “Sorry, I was going to do it when I got home, but I needed to eat because someone stole—”

“And you’re eating the lasagna from the tray? We have clean bowls. You could easily grab one from—”

“Let me talk!” You ended up shouting. It was sudden for both of you. You’re never one to raise your voice and Spencer has never been one to fuck up bad enough to witness it. It forces Spencer to freeze in place, like that accumulation he talked about just rushed through the apartment on your command. It would be funny if it was some sort of command if you already weren’t teetering on the edge of tears. The sting in your nose already started traveling to your eyes. They welled up and Spencer quickly became a blur as you started to sob, the trials of a bad day finally getting to you. You let your chest heave and tears streak down your cheeks, hoping at least a portion of the stress will subside afterward.

You didn’t expect Spencer to be right next to you. You didn’t hear his cane once on the floor. It was against the arm of the couch. And he was on the floor, resting on his knees. Of course, you’re too distressed to point out that is the last thing he should be doing if he wants to avoid more surgery so badly. Plus he’s busy with taking the meal off of your lap. “Come here,” he tells you. He’s holding your hands. His hands are just as frigid as the lasagna. But he pulls you up as he tries to stand, meeting you on (somewhat) equal footing to bring you into a hug. It’s warm, obviously. All of his hugs are warm. He wears cotton-only cardigans and wears layers of clothes even at the peak of summer. “I’m sorry.” He says. “Just let it out. I’m here.”

“Spence. Your knee.”

“It’s fine.”

“You need to—”

“Be here. Which I am.” And he holds you tighter.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds #criminalminds #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds drabble

[lovelytsunoda]

wisdom teeth // oscar piastri (headcanons)

summary: oscar's girlfriend gets her wisdom teeth out

pairing: oscar piastri x female! reader

warnings: mentions of surgery, wisdom teeth, anesthesia....you know, just dental surgery related things

author's note: i lost the picture i normally use for my headcanon dividers and its pissing me off because i can't be bothered to go to an old set and save it again....maybe its time to rebrand slightly.

he’s such a lover boy!! so attentive for the whole day and recovery period

drives her to the appointment in their Kia suv, something far more sensible than Oscar’s McLaren is, with the sole purpose of making sure she’s comfortable on the way home

he doesn’t leave the surgery once during the procedure. even though they’re told that it will be at least three hours to remove all four teeth, he simply takes a book out of his backpack and camps out in the waiting room

holding her hand while they wait for the anaesthesia to take effect, and kissing her on the forehead before he leaves the operating theatre

he wanted to say but the surgeon said ✨ not on your life✨

so there he is, reading mark webbers autobiography in the waiting room

when she comes out of surgery, she’s not delirious like he had feared

just fucking tired

“hey sweet girl, lean on me. let’s get you to the car. how about we stop for milkshakes on the way home?”

shes bundled up in blankets, groggy as she pushes the seat back, indie rock on the radio and oscar's hand reassuringly rubbing her thigh

shes asleep by the time he gets to the mcdonalds drive through

he has to carry her inside, securely tucking her into their bed and leaving the milkshake on the nightstand

watching tv in the other room at a low volume so he can hear if she wakes up or if she needs anything

helps her shower to wash off the hospital smell, holding her tightly and whispering how proud he is and how good she is

stroking her hair as they eat soup together while watching something mindless on netflix before she falls asleep in his arms halfway through an episode of monk

makes sure she takes all her painkillers on time, drinking lots of water

waits on her hand and foot, even days later when she’s almost fully recovered

“babe, I’m going for a girls night!”

“like hell you are. are you sure you’re well enough? the surgeon said it could take a week. your stitches still need to dissolve.”

“Oscar, it’s just a few mocktails and manicures.”

“fine. but don’t overdo it. no vodka, no sharp foods and no boxing classes at least until Monday.”

“okay, dad.”

but she’s smiling as she says it

Oscar just wants to take care of his pretty girl, and make sure she has everything she needs to get better

#oscar piastri x reader #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 headcanons #oscar piastri imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #Oscar piastri headcanons