#it's possible he got a concussion

[dazednstoned]

The theory that Dutch went “crazy” bc of his head injury on the trolley doesn't really hold up. I say this as someone who has endured multiple life-altering head injuries. To change someone's personality like people claim it did Dutch's, it would have to be an incredibly severe injury, not just a minor concussion.

I can think of one medical case where this occurred to such an extent. It was Phineas Gage where his personality changed completely. And guess what caused it? An iron rod went all the way through his head. So, the likelihood of Dutch's minor head injury being the cause of his behavior in ch4-6 is very low.

Personally, I think it's as simple as Dutch was a manipulator, knowingly or not. And when John and Arthur were slipping away his tactics of manipulation fell through, hence his change in behavior.

[backpackingspace]

a rough sketch of an idea

Polites found odysseus in the sheep's field weapons and armor and body broken and bruised. It looked like he had been dropped from a great height. He felt his gut clench at the sight. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. But it was the worst he had ever seen his friend.

Odysseus had been collecting more and more bruises over the past year, becoming more and more cagey about their source. About his training. "Proof of athena's favoritism" he called them with a grin "it'll all be worth it when I'm the best fighter around"

But polites couldn't help but worry. Pride and honors and achievements didn't matter if you didn't survive the training to get there. Polites desperately wished there was something more he could to do to help but even if he could convince odysseus to cease this insanity, how would even get out of it without offending the goddess?

"I take it training didn't go well, my friend?" Polites asked with a smile forcing his voice to keep its teasing edge. He extended a hand to help odysseus up off the ground.

"Shut up polites" odysseus grumbled as he threw a hand up to clumsily grasp at polites hand.

Despite the muscle odysseus was rapidly gaining polites could still haul him up easily. He'd thank the gods for his height but lately praying had left a sour taste in his mouth. As he dragged odysseus towards a well paid and secured doctor he eyed the broken spear, sword, and sheild. A glimmer of an idea started to take shape. It was likely odysseus would continue to break mortal equipment as he did battle with gods and his family had been pressuring him to choose a calling already....

"Eurylochus is coming from same tomorrow" polites chatted ideally, hoping to distract his closest friend from his pain. Odysseus groaned and banged his head against polites shoulder.

"Come now!" Polites chided through his laughter "you love the man!"

"Not when he's trying to bed my sister I dont" odysseus slurred somehow managing to drip annoyance through the concussion and other pains.

(@www-dot-why-are-you-here-dot-com tagged as promise! It's more on the angsty side of my headcanons so let me know if you only want to be tagged in the fluffy ones)

[etapereine]

more 2018 jonas for your viewing pleasure

[ashleighneville]

I always feel like I should watch equestrian because my dad is from horse riding country but I never do.

[a-mint-bear]

I Think My Cute Co-Worker Got Taken Over By an Alien Hive Mind

On a mission and aboard a ship in space, your only real friend there is the cute and shy janitor. After an accident where he crashed on a nearby planet, he's been acting very... strangely.

(just a teensy bit of nsft implications in the dialogue here, nothin explicit)

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

You're a scientist on a long-term space expedition. It's mission is to find possible inhabitable new worlds for humanity to live on in the future. Your job is to monitor and research environmental factors that could pose a threat to your crewmates and the mission and find ways to make planets more livable.

There are security officers, miners, your fellow scientists and researchers, the doctor and her assistant, a couple of maintenance androids for the ship and of course the crew who navigate and serve on the big hunk of metal you're all zipping through space on. On that crew is the ship's custodial worker.

You're not so snobbish to undervalue the importance of a clean living environment, especially in the medical wing and your own lab, but there are some on the ship that treat him like he's invisible or like he's not important just because he's not the brains or muscle on board. He comes and cleans up in your lab every day before dinner, and while sometimes you're too busy to really spend any time chatting, you do enjoy the talks you get to occasionally have.

Sometimes you're so busy that you end up working through dinner, and when you finally pull yourself out of it, you find quick and easy dishes ready for you well past the allotted mealtime. He always leaves a little candy from his personal stash alongside them, so you know it's from him.

He's a bit shy, and very quiet, but he always seems to light up whenever the two of you get to talk. You heard a rumor that he's the son of some business associate of one of the benefactors of the mission, and he just needed a job. Another rumor that he was a bit of a screw-up back on Earth and needed a fresh start somewhere far away. But to you, he was just your friend.

If you were being completely honest, you might've had a bit of a crush on him. He was just so kind and genuine, compared to the self-important scientists you spent every day with. And he was pretty cute, behind the baggy janitorial uniform and the dirt that sometimes smeared his face. He was sweet and he seemed to always be thinking of you, and he was one of the only things in your life that made you smile.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

There was a mishap one day, a near cataclysmic crash where six members of the mission crew were dislodged from the ship and fell into the low orbit of the nearby uninhabited planet.

He was the only survivor. He'd managed to land in a strange body of water where the density levels were so high that he hit the water mostly safely and stayed afloat until rescue. A broken arm and a minor head wound plus a slight concussion, but he was alive.

Other people on the crew seemed almost angry that out of the six people lost, including the ship's first mate and a researcher, the janitor was the one to survive. But you were just so happy he came back to you.

But after that day, your friend had... changed.

He was smooth and cool, almost confident? A little awkward still, but he carried himself differently. Almost like he was an entirely different person.

And he was... a lot more forward with you. Despite being so happy he was alive and even glad that he was making a move on you finally, you couldn't help but feel like something was wrong with him.

One day, he came in to clean your lab like every day and when you asked him how he was feeling, his arm still in the quick-print cast and the stitches on his forehead still healing, he just smiled.

"I'm fine." he smiled at you, standing a bit too close. "I missed you..."

You joked with him that he just saw you that morning, and he smiled that same smile.

"I've been thinking about you..." He held a lock of your hair in his fingers, seeming almost entranced by it. "My thoughts are damn near consumed by you, love."

You couldn't help the warmth that sprung to your cheeks. He was standing so close, and while he was acting odd, he was still that same considerate, sweet man.

"I want to touch you..." His voice was low and hit just right. You wanted it too, but you faltered. You told him that you weren't sure... that something felt wrong.

"Just let yourself go..." he smiled, caressing your cheek, his other hand holding your wrist. "I want you... Let me feel you."

Wrong. It felt wrong. He wasn't that type of guy. This...

You smiled, putting your hands on his chest. You told him that you were in charge here, pushing him back slightly with an authority you weren't used to wielding. But you stayed calm. Your hand lingered on his chest, pressing him against the wall.

He bit his lip, such a confident face... it only confirmed what you feared. Taking a step back, you ordered him to not move, he needed to be good for you. Your gaze still locked onto his, you pulled up a holo-screen, locking down your analyzer containment field. His smile didn't slip, but his eyes darted around with a puzzled look in them.

"What are you doing, love?" His voice didn't seemed alarmed or even mildly concerned. "Locking me up? If you wanted me all to yourself, all you had to do was ask..."

You told him you didn't know what he was up to, but you weren't fooled by him. He wasn't your friend.

"What do you mean?" He pressed his hands to the shielding, like he was testing it while still talking to you, placating you. "It's me... Let me out, love."

You told him your friend, even if he wanted you, would never push past your boundaries like that. He was sweet and considerate, and the kindest man you knew. While whatever this was had been ready to hold you down to get what it wanted.

You started your scans while it just talked to you, but you didn't respond.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

An hour had passed. If anyone found out what you were doing, they would deem it too risky and demand he be ejected from the ship. It wasn't like this was the captain you were scanning, or a fellow scientist. The mission could afford to lose him. But you couldn't.

"Let me out." It still wore your friend's smile, but there was something in it's eyes. Something... old. Something consuming him. "Let me touch you, love. I want to feel your warmth."

Your hands danced across the holographic screen, lining up your scanners. Usually they'd been used for scanning minerals and water sources to make sure they were safe for humans, but they were equipped with biological scanners in the case of the med-bay's destruction or shut-down. You were looking for what ever could be possessing your dear friend.

Something had been in that water, you were sure of it.

"We need to taste you..." It's tongue lolled out from it's mouth, panting and dripping saliva. "One taste, that's all we need. And then you'll be part of us. No more worries, no more searching, no more fighting to survive... you'll finally be free."

When you didn't respond, it laughed.

"We know how much you want him." It almost seemed to be taunting you now. "We can smell it on you... Don't you want to know what it's like? His lips on yours? His touch on your skin? You've been so isolated on this ship... long, cold endless nights with no one beside you. We know his mind, love. It's plagued by thoughts of you. Oh, how he spent night after night... positively enraptured... consumed with the mere possibility of your attentions. Your affection... Your toucccchhhh..."

You tried to shut out his words as your scanners looked for a way to stop this, to get him back, but the thing inside him seemed unbothered. Almost amused.

"He loves you..." It laughed. "It's an intense, burning thing. He wants nothing more than to feel you under him, in the throws of his LOVE... Your nails digging into his back, screaming his name... His obsession is what let us in... So singularly-minded... It was almost too easy..."

"We came into his body, his mind... it was hard not to be consumed by the thoughts of you. His wants became our wants. We are one, love. His love, OUR love... Be ours, and nothing else will matter..."

You paused. The thing inside him, It was speaking in the present tense. Like he was still in there somewhere. Or at least he wasn't dead. This thing wasn't possessing his lifeless body. It was in there with him. You felt more determined than ever.

You told it you would keep it here until you found out how to get it out of him. Even if you had to study him for days, weeks, you wouldn't stop until he was safe.

"You don't know how happy you've made him, love." It smiled, licking his lips. "He always wanted you looking only at him."

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

light novel-ass titles are so funny to me

still working on CO3 but i needed to write this. i promise it's coming soon

can y'all guess what movie i went and saw that made me think of this one?

i've been thinking of a yandere that it actually some kind of possessing entity, and the idea latched onto a sci-fi vibe.

i wanted the header to reflect a darker haired, scruffier guy with a bit of chin hair who gives off a real loser vibe, but i usually source from other people's ai images (can't be copyrighted), and damn it all if they aren't all baby-faced little guys lol

something more like this:

but that's just fanart of Eraserhead from MHA lol

[tedmustache]

bartender younger girlfriend, who gets brought in during Jack’s shift with a broken nose

Bar Fight

Pairing: Jack Abbott x Bartender!Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings/tags: protective!Jack, Hurt/Comfort, established relationship, age gap, physical assault (non-graphic), mentions of blood and bruising, medical setting, brief description of injury (broken nose)

Summary: A rough night leads Y/N to the ER, and Jack’s only priority is making sure she’s okay.

Requests are open | Masterlist

[...]

Jack Abbott wasn’t supposed to be on shift that long. He’d promised himself it would be a short one, just enough to help with the overflow, check on a couple trauma consults, and go home at a decent hour.

But like most promises in a trauma hospital, that one didn’t last.

He was just finishing up suturing a deep forearm laceration from a kitchen accident when Dr. Shen appeared in the doorway of the bay, his expression unreadable, which was never a good sign.

“Jack” Shen said. “You need to come to Bay 3. Now.”

Jack didn’t look up from his stitches right away. “Can it wait? I’m almost—”

“It’s Y/N” Shen said quietly. “She just walked in. Looks like a broken nose. Possibly more.”

Jack froze.

His hands were steady, but the world around him blurred for a second. He didn’t even register the nurse beside him offering to finish up the sutures. He set the needle driver down carefully, turned on his heel, and was gone without another word.

The walk through the ER felt like it took forever and no time at all. The second he rounded the corner into Bay 3, his chest tightened so hard it knocked the air from his lungs.

She was sitting on the edge of a gurney, shoulders tense, one hand pressing a bloodied towel to her face. She wore her usual bartending clothes, and her apron still hung half tied around her waist. Her lower lip was split, and blood streaked her cheek where it had run from her nose.

But she was upright. Conscious. Breathing.

“Jack” she breathed when she saw him.

He crossed the room in three steps, his hands already reaching for her but stopping short, hovering just in front of her face like he was afraid to hurt her.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low and tight.

“A guy at the bar didn’t like being cut off. Got grabby. I shoved him, and he hit me.” Her voice was slightly nasal from the swelling. “Security dragged him out. I’m fine, really”

“You’re not fine” Jack said. His eyes scanned every inch of her face, then flicked to her arms, her torso, looking for more injuries. “He hit you? With what? His hand? An object?”

“Just his fist. Straight to the nose. Guess he got lucky.”

He inhaled sharply, jaw clenched. “Lucky” he echoed. “Right.”

He turned to the nurse. “She’s with me. I’ll handle this.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the nurse nodded and stepped back, shooting her a knowing look before slipping out behind the curtain.

Jack finally touched her, gently cupping her cheek, brushing a smear of dried blood away with his thumb. His fingers trembled ever so slightly.

“You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt your shift—”

“I don’t give a damn about my shift when you walk in bleeding” he said. “You could’ve passed out on the way here. What if you were concussed? What if he’d done worse?”

“I’m okay,” she said softly, leaning into his touch despite the ache.

“You’re bleeding,” he said again, like he didn’t believe it even now. “Come on. Let’s take a closer look.”

He helped her down gently and guided her to a nearby trauma room a little more private, quieter. Once inside, he sat her on the gurney and clicked on the overhead lamp, his eyes still dark with concern.

She let him work in silence as he palpated around her nose and cheekbones with skilled fingers.

“Definitely broken” he said after a moment. “Clean break, though. No eye socket involvement. You’re lucky.”

“I keep hearing that tonight” she muttered.

Jack didn’t smile. “I’m not joking.”

He grabbed supplies and paused when he turned back to her.

“Can I?” he asked, lifting the syringe gently.

She nodded. “Go for it. You’ve already seen me cry over Disney movies. I can’t embarrass myself any further.”

Jack let out a breath, a faint smile ghosting across his lips, and injected the anesthetic with careful precision. He watched her the whole time, not just the injection site, but her face, her breathing, any sign that she was flinching or hiding pain.

“Jack” she murmured when he stepped back. “You don’t have to baby me.”

“Yes, I do” he said simply. “Because you’re mine. And someone hurt you.”

The softness of his voice made her chest ache in a completely different way.

He splinted her nose with steady hands, but when he was done, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he sat on the gurney beside her, his hand sliding gently into hers.

“You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“I’ve had worse bar fights.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“I know” she whispered. “But I handled it. I’m okay now.”

Jack looked at her like she had no idea what her own face looked like. “You’re bleeding. Bruised. Shaken up. That’s not okay in my book.”

She reached up with her free hand and tugged at his sleeve. “But you’re here now.”

He exhaled slowly and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, mindful of the splint.

“I don’t care how many hours I’ve worked. If anything like this happens again, you call me first. Understood?”

She nodded. “Yes, Dr. Abbot.”

“That’s not fair” he said, finally letting a smile creep into his voice. “You’re not allowed to flirt while wearing a bandage I applied.”

She snorted, then winced. “Ow. Okay, laughing hurts. New rule: no jokes.”

Jack kissed the top of her head gently.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, his fingers laced with hers, the chaos of the ER muffled behind the curtain.

Eventually, Jack glanced down at her and asked, “Want to come home with me tonight?”

She looked up at him through tired eyes. “I thought you were on call.”

“My shift is almost over”

Y/N smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “Only if you let me eat ice cream for dinner.”

“Done.”

“And let me control the TV.”

He hesitated. “Even if you choose reality dating shows?”

She looked up at him, smug. “Especially then.”

He groaned. “Fine. But only because you got punched in the face.”

She leaned into him, warm and safe. “You’re a very romantic trauma doctor, you know that?”

He kissed her temple again. “Only for you.”

[...]

Back at his apartment, Jack cleaned the last of the blood from her face, his touch impossibly soft while she put on the last episode of a reality show he didn’t know the name

"You’re gonna have a hell of a shiner tomorrow" he muttered, tracing the bruise.

Y/N shrugged. "Worth it. Dude’s banned for life."

Jack’s expression darkened. "He’s lucky that’s all that happened."

She studied him. The tension in his shoulders, the storm in his eyes, and sighed. "Jack."

"What?"

"You’re doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That thing. Where you look like you’re five seconds away from hunting someone down."

He didn’t deny it.

Y/N cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I’m fine. I Promise."

Jack exhaled sharply, leaning into her touch. "...I hate seeing you hurt."

"I know." She smiled. "But you fixed me up pretty good, Doc."

He huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Damn right I did."

“...I love you, you know.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb across her temple. “And I love you too.”

And when she curled into his side that night. Safe, warm, his. Jack swore to himself that no one would ever lay a hand on her again.

[witherby]

Continuation of the biting baby, y/n as a toddler somehow developed the habit of headbutting people in the gut but not bruce. He still gets bit but aye, he's not alone anymore lmao

(Baby has to be put in air jail almost everyday buy the moment they're out they headbutt the person who placed them in air jail as hard as possible)

(Also just in case people doesn't know what air jail is,u just hold the baby/animal In the air with ur hand)

A pattern is forming. I think you all want Mouse to be a violent baby.

Including me, so —

The Littlest Wayne: Air Jail

"AHH! SHI-AHhhghh sugarhoneyicetea..."

Bruce lifts his eyes from his newspaper and looks at the couch, waiting for the inevitable. Like clockwork a pair of hands shoot into the air, with you as prisoner, and you start complaining and windmilling your limbs. The hands holding you are encased in leather; Jason must have been the victim then.

"Mousey, I'm workin' with two broken ribs and a concussion," the man complains, jostling you for emphasis. You squeal, giggling. "You cannot keep running into me with that thick little noggin at full speed. I felt a third rib crack upon impact. You're killing me. You're killing your brother. I'm gonna die again."

"Wanna!" You insist, back to windmilling. "Down! Jay-Jay, down!"

"No down. You get Air Jail 'till you say sorry and promise not to headbutt me again."

"I sowwy..." You whine, jutting your bottom lip out for emphasis. "Down, p'ease."

"Jesus Christ, the puppy dog eyes are lethal. I — ugh. You gotta say you won't headbutt me anymore. No more headbutt, okay?"

Your eyes start to water. Bruce watches you sink back down, vanishing behind the back of the couch, and snorts into his paper. He lets out a full laugh when Jason cries out a minute later. You've struck again.

"WE HAD A DEAL. Get over here, you're going back to Air Jail."

You shriek with delight, toddling away as fast as your chubby legs will allow. Jason, as injured as he is, actually can't catch up to you before you spot your dad and make the motion for Uppies.

"Daddy!" You cry. Bruce sets the paper aside and scoops you up.

"Are you being naughty?" He asks. You grin and hide your face in his shoulder. "Uh oh. Maybe I'll let Jay put you back in Air Jail — OW?"

He winces and your peals of laughter ring right next to his head. You open your mouth to bite him again, but he's the one to lift you into the air this time. "Daddy! Down!"

"I'm calling the police," Bruce deadpans, dropping into the Batman Voice. "Your rampant string of crime has gone unchecked for too long. Victims are piling up left and right. You've headbutt all your brothers this week, and Uncle Hal, and Titus. How Grandpa is escaping your tyranny is a mystery, but it's time to turn you over to the law."

"No powice, daddy!"

"Yes powice, child."

Bruce stands up and carries you into the day room, lowering you down into an extra tall play pen.

"Time out for five minutes."

You pout and cross your tiny arms, glaring at the ground.

"Don't wike, daddy. Want out."

"Yeah, well Daddy doesn't like getting bitten like a cookie, and your brothers don't like taking your skull to their bodies at high speeds. We want our skin free from bruises and teeth marks."

"Ha-ha," Jason teases from the doorway, pointing at you. "Get got, criminal!"

Your pouting intensifies. You reach out to Jason and make small whining noises.

"Want out. Want Jay-Jay, p'ease! Jay-Jay!"

The smug little smirk fades from Jason quick, turning into something fond and pitying.

"....I mean...c'mon, B, they're three. Five whole minutes?"

Bruce rolls his eyes. "This is why we haven't been able to curb this behavior yet. You can't fall for big eyes and a please every time —"

You hitch a little sob, and like a wet paper bag, Bruce folds.

"Maybe I'm being a tad harsh. They're three years old..."

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post fight vibes

meet cute

note: possibly a mini series but idk

after his home and the ring; jungkook's third home is the hospital.

yet, one thing he will never get used to are the bright lights. 

fuck. 

they’re always so fucking bright.

it doesn’t matter if he’s in for nearly busting his brain or if he’s just here for a casual IV drip—each time, the lights are insanely bright.

the hospital room is too white too. 

too sterile for someone like him.

his eyes flicker down to his knuckles. they’re split and bruised, resting against his stomach, rising and falling with each slow breath. his lip is cut, swollen at the corner, and when he rolls his shoulders back, he winces—just slightly—like he's trying not to show it.

suddenly, the doors burst open and his head turns towards it. 

you walk in. 

navy blue scrubs, white doctors coat, and your hair is tied high and back. 

it’s… love at first sight. 

your cheeks are so perfect. that’s the first thing he notices about you. they have this puff that makes him wonder if anyone has ever complimented you on them. next, are your lips. they’re perfectly shaped—so kissable. maybe he’s just that fucked in the head but everything about you looks so perfect. like your eyes are the exact size they need to be. you button nose where your glasses sit so cutely… 

god help him. 

maybe he got beat up a little too much this match. 

jungkook swallows drly as you approach him. you pull out the scans and show him on the monitor. you glance at them and then at him. for a moment, you’re silent and he doesn’t know if he should be saying anything. 

should he introduce himself? 

better yet, can you introduce yourself?

"you're concussed," you say simply.

jungkook blinks at you, like he was expecting more. 

"that bad?"

"you've had worse." you say it simply as you click on the monitor and pull out old scans from months ago. your eyes widen as you look through the ones from the past 3 years. pausing at one scan from 2019, you use your pen to gesture around the areas where he’s been concussed before. “this old one? probably your worst one.” 

he huffs out a laugh, shifting in his seat. 

"my brain is still here, though. couldn’t have been that bad, huh?"

you don’t humor the joke. 

"debatable."

his grin widens, even through the soreness. "harsh, doctor…”

“doctor ___.” 

“___,” he breathes. “that’s pretty.”

“doctor ___.” you correct.

“right,” jungkook folds. then, the moment shifts. he can’t help but blurt; “... you sure you're not just mad you had to sub in for my usual guy?"

"not mad," you say, flipping through his chart. "just not impressed."

he laughs again, low and raspy, like this whole thing is funny. like the fractures and bruising on his scans are nothing more than a bad grade on a test.

"aren't you too young to be a doctor?"

you glance at him, raising a brow. 

"aren't you too young to have this many head injuries?"

his smile lingers, but he doesn’t say anything for a beat like he's trying to come up with a clever response. like he's trying to read you.

"did you win?" you ask instead.

"huh?"

"your fight."

his grin flickers—surprise, maybe. or amusement. 

"yeah. of course."

you nod, flipping the chart closed. 

"is it worth it?"

he tilts his head, the movement slow. calculated. like he's trying to see if you're serious. truth be told, he can’t read you. not your tone or your facial expression. it intrigues him… how could someone be so warm and so cold at the same time? you’re lukewarm… but it’s refreshing. it’s scratches his fucked up brain somehow.

"i'll tell you," jungkook muses, "if you go out with me."

you scoff. 

"that's okay."

he waits.

"some things are worth asking about," you say, pushing your chair back. you stand up and lean over to check over his vitals. as you fix his IV, you squint as you notice his knuckles. for some reason, jungkook suddenly fights to urge to reach for you. his fingers twitch. you see it. you brush it off and say; "some things aren't worth the answer."

you don’t miss the way his lips part slightly, his brows lifting in surprise. 

you don’t stick around to see if he has a follow-up. you grab your clipboard and head towards the door. as you push the door open to leave, you bid him goodbye. 

"rest up, mr. jeon."

the next time jungkook is back, it's not you.

"dr. ___ isn’t in today?" jungkook asks, trying to sound… anything but how it came out.

namjoon doesn’t look up from his notes. 

“you met her?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “can’t get her out of my head ever since.”

namjoon chuckles as he takes out his slit lamp and examines jungkook’s eye movement. as jungkook’s eyes follow the light, nam joon continues;

"why’s that?”

“dunno,” jungkook confesses. 

namjoon can’t take jungkook seriously. he’s never been the type to care about girls since they’ve always come to him one way or another… but knowing you, he should’ve known jungkook would take interest. 

“miss her or something?" nam joon teases. “love at first concussion?”

“not my first concussion… and i was just wondering. shit, man.” jungkook shrugs, trying to move past it. suddenly, he’s embarrassed. 

namjoon hums, like he doesn’t believe him (because he doesn’t).

"she doesn't date patients," namjoon says, flipping a page and writing down notes from jungkook’s checkup. "definitely not ones with a brain like yours."

jungkook blinks. "is it that bad?"

namjoon grins. "she spends her days saving patients who get injured unwillingly. you? boxing? that's a choice. you're her least favorite kind of patient."

"but am i her type?"

namjoon laughs and shakes his head. 

"your brain is fucked up."

when jungkook’s checkup finishes, he says goodbye to namjoon and exits the room. 

then, like fate, he sees you in the hall when he's leaving. you're walking in the opposite direction, clipboard tucked against your hip, eyes scanning over charts.

jungkook doesn’t think. 

he moves.

jungkook catches up to you and taps your shoulder. as you turn your head to respond, he steps forward and in front of you instead. suddenly, you face him.

"you."

you blink up at him, unimpressed. "me."

"i'm not concussed anymore."

"i'm glad,” you smile at him softly before you lower your gaze back to your charts. “have a good day mr. jeon—"

"i won that match," he says, like it's important. like it means something.

you pause.

"i'm a good boxer," he continues, standing taller. "i don’t get injured that much. when you saw me last… i let the guy get in a few hits. whatever… it was for show, i swear to god… but if you go out with me, i promise to always win and never get a head injury ever again."

you stare at him.

he waits.

you exhale, shifting your clipboard to the other hand. then, before he can say anything else, your fingers push into his hair, ruffling it gently.

his breath hitches.

you drop your hand and step past him.

"i think you're still a little concussed," you murmur. 

“i’m not,” jungkook says, voice soft. “one chance.”

you tilt your head at him and for a moment, you really contemplate. his lip looks almost healed. his knuckles are only bruised now… for a moment, you want to give in. 

“do you ever lose?”

he scoffs. “no.”

you nod and begin to slip away. jungkook stands there confused at the growing distance. as you walk away, you tell him; 

“maybe you should learn how to.”

“why? so you can feel better about rejecting me?"

jungkook tilts his head, lips twitching. he lifts his foot to move to you but you shake your head at him. he stops his tracks. cutely, you mimic him and tilt your head too, feigning sympathy. 

"no, so you stop getting concussed."

he grins, sharp and easy. "i told you, i don't get injured that much."

"right… just enough to keep me employed."

his laughter comes quick, like he wasn't expecting that. 

"damn," he mutters, shaking his head. "you got a sharp tongue, doc."

you exhale through your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve given him, and start toward the door. with one hand, you wave him off, like he’s not worth the breath it takes to keep talking.

but just before you step out, jungkook hears you murmur over your shoulder—low, teasing, like you’re indulging him for just a second longer.

"good thing you’re used to taking hits, jeon."

jungkook’s smile lingers long after you’ve disappeared down the hall. for a moment, he contemplates on running after you and continuing to annoy you… and then, for the nth time today… he thinks. 

he’ll be back. 

injured or not—he’s coming back just for you.

[mercvry-glow]

a girls guide to shopping

parings. michael robinavitch x bratty!reader

summary. a shopping trip goes sideways after a teenager clocks your shit at a panty sale. thankfully your hot doctor boyfriend knows what's best.

warnings. age gap (robby early 50s, reader late 20s early 30s), reader gets punched, and passes out, hospital setting, robby is a little stressed and sassy but so is reader, pretty light overall, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I love them your honor! sorry for not posting for a few days while i figured out these stories/dynamics. always feel free to request dynamics like these, I love them more than anything else! as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 1900+

Coming into the ER while you were supposed to be shopping was a total fucking downer. Once, the mall had been a magical place—a glittery,  pretzel scented wonderland where you could lose hours drifting between candle shops and designer racks, sipping iced lattes and swatching lip gloss on the back of your hand like a civilized woman.

Now? Now it was the place where you got decked in the face by some teenage gremlin in low-rise jeans over a pair of lace panties.

And because you were a grown adult, you couldn’t even swing back.

Tragic.

You didn't even remember hitting the floor. Just the sharp, burning pop in your nose, the stars behind your eyes, and then—darkness. The paramedics told you you were out cold for maybe ninety seconds, but it was long enough to wake up under fluorescent lights, head pounding and crop top slightly askew.

“We got a female, LOC for approx one minute,” one of the EMTs was saying now as they wheeled your stretcher through the ER. “Vitals stable, GCS fifteen, alert and oriented, just... uh... kinda pissed.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you muttered, clutching the melting bag of ice someone had tossed at your face like it could fix your whole life.

“Can you tell us your name again?” asked the other paramedic—young, blonde, and way too chipper for your taste.

“Yeah. It’s ‘I want a lawyer.’”

He snorted. “Okay, feisty’s good. You remember what happened?”

“I got my shit rocked by a seventeen-year-old with acrylics and rage issues over a five-dollar thong. And I swear to God, if I have to get my nose redone, someone’s getting sued. Possibly everyone!”

The paramedic just chuckled again and turned to the nurse approaching the stretcher. “We got a real diva on our hands.”

“Do not diminish me,” you snapped, even as you adjusted your messy bun and adjusted your once cute, now bloodied, jacket. “I am a victim of retail violence.”

The nurse—a tan-skinned, shorter woman with dark hair, and a clearly unbothered attitude—just gave you a once-over. “Put her in Bay 3. Maybe Dr. Robby can talk her down.”

You blinked. “Wait. Did you just say Robby?”

The paramedic raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

Oh, you knew him.

You dated him.

Michael Robinovitch: broody, brilliant, perpetually annoyed trauma doc. Your boyfriend. Also, the last person on earth you wanted to see you laid out in a hospital bed with smeared lip gloss and a possible concussion.

You shot upright slightly—then immediately winced and laid back down.

“Please don’t tell him it’s me,” you whispered like it was a state secret. “Lie. Say I died. Switch my name with someone else’s. Say I’m contagious.”

The nurse smirked. “Yeah, he’s gonna love this.”

That was the moment you knew you were screwed.

The curtains around North-3 weren't soundproof, but you were trying to pretend they werer. You laid there with an ice pack balanced across your nose and a mild headache blooming behind your eyes. The ER smelled like bleach and overworked nurses, and you were pretty sure one of your press-on nails had popped off in the ambulance.

The nurse—Princess, according to her badge—was updating something on the computer, tapping the keys like she’d done this a thousand times. She had a chill vibe, low braid, cute scrubs. Honestly, you respected her.

“So, just to confirm,” she said without looking up, “you fainted in Victoria’s Secret?”

You sighed. “Technically, I passed out next to a panty display. Slightly more dignified.”

Princess grinned. “Right.”

“I had a head injury,” you added defensively. “And that girl came flying at me like I personally wronged her.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get trampled.”

“Thank you for your concern,” you said, deadpan. “I didn’t get to buy my stuff either.”

Princess chuckled. “I’ll put that in your chart.”

You slumped back onto the gurney, closing your eyes. This was officially the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to you. Which was saying something, considering you once accidentally sexted your building manager.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulled your attention to the hallway.

“Where is she?” came a familiar voice. Calm, but rushed. Less annoyed than… worried.

Your stomach dipped.

Princess didn’t even glance over. “There it is.”

You opened your eyes, sitting up slowly. “He’s here?”

“Yup.”

“Do you know if he’s like—mad?”

Princess finally looked up at you. “He looked… like he needed to know you were okay.”

You bit your lip. “Ugh. That’s worse.”

The curtain pulled open gently—no dramatic whip, no scolding.

There he was.

Dr. Michael Robby Robinovitch. Brown hair slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it on the way down, stethoscope hanging around his neck, scrubs just a little rumpled. His eyes landed on you immediately, softening the second he saw your face.

“You fainted over a pair of underwear?”

Your smile dropped. “Excuse me, I was attacked over a pair of underwear.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but he didn’t laugh. He stepped inside quietly, pulling the curtain mostly shut behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low.

“I mean, my face hurts and my dignity’s practically, but otherwise? Sure.”

He moved closer, reaching out carefully to lift the ice pack away. “Let me see.”

You let him, even though the swelling around your nose made you feel anything but cute. He studied you for a second, then met your eyes.

“Doesn’t look broken. We’ll scan just to be safe.”

You tried to joke. “If I need a nose job, I’m getting a cute one.”

His mouth twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand gently on your knee.

“I got paged when they brought you in,” he said quietly. “Didn’t know it was you until I heard the report and someone described you as all ‘crop top’ and ‘attitude.’”

You laughed, even though your head throbbed a little when you did. “Hell yeah.”

“I was worried,” he admitted, thumb brushing lightly over your knee. “You don’t just faint. That’s not you.”

“I didn’t mean to be dramatic,” you said softly. “I just… kind of blinked and hit the floor.”

“You don’t have to explain. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

You exhaled, letting yourself relax for the first time since the mall.

He looked at you again, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?”

You smirked. “You really can’t, look what I get up too.” 

Robby didn’t move right away. His hand rested on your knee, thumb tracing quiet, reassuring circles through the thin hospital blanket. You shifted slightly, trying not to wince at the dull ache spreading from the bridge of your nose up into your forehead.

“Do I look terrible?” you asked, your voice lower now.

He glanced up from your chart, his soft brown eyes sweeping across your face—not with judgment, but with quiet focus. “You look like someone who took a hit and handled it.”

“So... still cute?” you teased lightly.

Michael’s lips curved, just barely. “Always.”

You smiled, then sighed. “This might be the most embarrassing day of my life.”

“Worse than the time you locked yourself out of the house in your underwear?”

“Low blow Mikey, low blow… and that was different. That was private shame. This is public, in my baby tee, with paramedics and nosy mall goers.”

He hummed softly, stepping back just as Princess peeked back in through the curtain, a clipboard in hand.

“Radiology’s ready,” she said with a kind smile. “You want a wheelchair or are you feeling steady?”

You started to sit up. “I’m fine. I can walk.”

Michael gave you a look—calm but pointed. “Let me help you.”

“I can do it.”

“I know,” he said, already offering a hand. “But let me anyway.”

You hesitated, then reached for him. His hand was warm and steady, and the way he hovered—not overbearing, just present—made you feel safe, even if your pride was still limping along behind you.

The walk down the hallway was quiet. The CT tech moved efficiently, guiding you through the scan with minimal small talk, and before you knew it, you were back in your bay, settling onto the stretcher again with a little more care than before.

Robby was waiting, flipping through a printout from radiology.

“Well?” you asked.

He glanced at you. “No fracture. No concussion. You’re just bruised, a little rattled too, but otherwise okay.”

You exhaled. “Good.”

He softened as he looked at you again, that quiet relief flickering behind his usual calm. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

Yet another nurse returned just then, handing over a water bottle and a stack of discharge instructions. “You’re free to go. Ice for the swelling, rest tonight, and take it easy for a couple days.”

Michael took the papers from your hands before you could even skim them. “I’ll go over these with her.”

You gave him a look but didn’t argue. It was kind of nice, having him take over. Quietly protective. Familiar.

They gave you a small smile. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

You nodded. “No more shopping trips. Lesson learned.”

Michael helped you off the bed with a gentleness that didn’t surprise you. As you reached for your bag, you felt his hand at the small of your back, guiding you without a word toward the exit.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, glancing up at him as the first doors opened.

He looked down at you, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “Always.”

As the next set automatic doors hissed, the cool mid-day air brushed against your skin. The hospital parking lot glowed in the flickering daylight, and for the first time all day, things felt quiet. Still.

Michael walked beside you, not rushing, just staying close. You didn’t say much—didn’t really need to.

At your rideshare pickup spot, since you clearly hadn’t taken your car here. You stopped and turned toward him. He still had the discharge paperwork tucked under one arm, the other hand resting casually on the small of your back.

“You sure you’re okay to go?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Yeah. A little sore. A lot tired. But I’ll be fine, hopefully.”

His eyes searched yours for a moment, not quite convinced.

“You passed out,” he said gently. “That’s not nothing.”

“I know.”

“If anything feels off tonight—headache that gets worse, nausea, anything weird—call me.”

You nodded again, a little slower this time. “I will.”

He studied you for another beat, then stepped forward, brushing a stray piece of hair from your cheek. His hand lingered there, warm against your skin.

“I mean it,” he said. “Even if it’s just a gut feeling. Call me.”

You smiled softly. “Okay.”

Then, without any rush, he leaned in and kissed you—just a quick, careful kiss to your forehead, right above the bruise forming at your hairline. Tender and light. Like punctuation at the end of a sentence that didn’t need words.

“Rest,” he murmured. “I’ll check in later.”

You watched him for a second before stepping back toward the car that had just pulled up.

And even though your face still ached and your head felt like cotton, you suddenly felt a little better than you had all day.

mercvry-glow 2025

[anthotneystark]

Had an idea at work but couldn't write it out until now lmao

Down on his luck Steve who refuses to give in to his parents and is desperately trying to figure things out for himself. But putting himself through school (i can never decide between nursing or education) is expensive. So he works two jobs, trying to save up and taking a few classes here and there, and the one job is in a restaurant. It's a fancier place, usually gets him decent tips, but the best nights are the ones where he's not waiting tables. The best nights are the ones where he plays the piano and sets the mood and has a little more freedom to enjoy himself.

Enter Rockstar!Eddie, who got out of Hawkins quick and never looked back. Who's at this fancy place for a work dinner and, as his bandmates (Jeff) demanded, he's trying to behave himself and remember which fork is which. But that's just not possible, not entirely, when he catches glimpses of a beautiful face, a face only rarely darting up from the piano in front of him. And look, Eddie's only human. He's smitten just from glimpses. He manages to get through the dinner, constantly watching to see if the piano man will look up again, but he's still playing by the time they're wrapping up.

So he skips out on riding back to the hotel with the others, goes to the bar area and decides it's not that creepy to wait for him. He waits and waits and waits and listens for the music to stop. The bartender is all but shoving him out the door when it does. With no other choice, he waits outside, smokes a cigarette to calm his nerves while he looks for a head of chestnut hair with an angel's face. Just as he's about to give up, he sees him. And he recognizes him. But just as much as that dismays him, he's still got hope enough to give it a shot.

He doesn't think Steve will recognize him anyway, but even if he does, Eddie's never been accused of making the best decisions.

So he slinks out from the shadows, which is a bad decision, and tries to get Steve's attention, which is a bad decision, and surprises Steve, who's first instinct is a fight response, resulting in Eddie getting punched in the face.

Because bad decisions.

Steve is obviously very apologetic, takes Eddie back home to get him ice for his face, and Eddie can't even protest because Pain. But once his face is numb and Steve's cleaning up the blood from his nose (very bruised but not broken) he's kinda staring and Steve, clearly embarrassed, is doing concussion tests. When asked "what's today's date" he responds with "our future anniversary". And when Steve asks him "what's your name" he responds with "your future husband" and Steve gives up on questions after that.

They obviously make out about it, even though they keep accidentally injuring Eddie further by knocking his nose.

And Eddie is right, it is their anniversary after all.

[kkusuka]

i'm back on my medic bullshit.

being hired to be the medic for an elite task force came with it's own insanity- which you prepared for.

you prepared for the amount of blood, Sergeant MacTavish and his tendency to get shot in the arm, then not heading your warning about overusing said arm, then blowing his stiches causing even more blood.

you prepared to be fought against, Captain Price and his need to be constantly working and on top of things, which he can't exactly do with a nasty concussion from being in a helicopter crash, but he only listens to you after getting flash banged by his own office lights.

you prepared to be listened to, Sergeant Garrick is like an angel in a sea of demons, it's not often, but when he does get injured he hangs off of every word you say to him. he comes in early for his check-ups, heads your warnings and even got you a little mug when you clear him for field activities.

you even prepared to get nothing, Lieutenant Riley doesn't get hurt, then when he does he just sits and listens to you rattle on about how to take care of his ankle, then he leaves with a nod of his head.

what you did not prepare for was walking in on poor Sergeant MacTavish- after a nasty fall out of a moving truck, then rolling into a ditch and diving right into a river- sat up, head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. he isn't nearly as shocked as you were, there was always a risk of someone walking in on you in the military and he had been practically shouting your name.

and Johnny was not the 141 member known for sweet-talking but he somehow convinces you that getting him off will not only make him feel better now, but it will also exponentially speed up his recovery! and so you end up on your knees, licking his cock up and down as his hand guides the back of your head.

and, to your dismay, he did make a speedy recovery, but gave your blowjob skills all of the credit. and he made sure everyone possible knew about your magical skills. (you were worried about getting fired for malpractice, the 141 was plotting who was gonna be next.)

now they didn't all suddenly throw themselves in the path of danger, no amount of horniness would make them risk their jobs, but no one can help not getting hurt every once in a while.

Sergeant Garrick getting his face thrown into a concrete wall and just needing you to sit on it to make him feel better. hands holding your hips to his face, tongue circling your clit as you try to hold onto the metal headboard of the infirmary room. and one time just isn't enough, most medicine takes a few doses before it can actually start working, so he needs you on your back, and bent over the bed, and sitting on the examination table; not to mention those weekly check-ins to make sure he's actually healing.

then Captain Price gets caught in a nasty helicopter crash, his leg is hurt, not broken, but he can't do anything but paperwork for a month. and that's ok! because he has you to sit on his cock for hours, you don't want him to be lonely while his team gets to be together, and laswell is for too busy to keep him company. and it really will help him to have your tight pussy squeezing his cock while he completes his work. and since it's all confidential, he can’t have you reading over all of it, so his only choice is fucking you until the only thing you can think about are his fingers playing with your clit and his cock fucking into you.

Lieutenant Riley doesn't get hurt, so he has to get a little creative. (he wants to just pick you up and fuck you wherever he can but Johnny said that would ruin the bit, he doesn't care about the fucking bit when he's the only one who hasn't fucked their medic.) so he's suddenly in your office about everything; his fingers are aching from having to teach rookies the proper way to hold a gun, he hit his head on a doorframe and needs some pain meds, dog bite, until he just gets fed up. those fuckers were handed perfect opportunities and it's clear that he isn't getting the same grace, so he'll just have to create it on his own.

obviously that includes just going to your office, locking the door, and fucking you against it. it's unceremonious and rather inopportune but his face is in the junction of your shoulders, biting into the flesh of your neck, and his hands are keeping you pinned to the door as his hips piston into yours. he sits with you for at least an hour after, cleaning the cum on your thighs, then leaves you with four dog tags and a command to wear them at all times.

and any question about who's medic you were are promptly shut down now that a  6'4 ghost, or the loudest scot on the planet, or the smell of cigars that don't come out even with bleach, or Sergeant Garrick follow you around.

[brainddeadd]

Surprises

Reader is Jack's wife and comes into the ED during his shift because she was assaulted by a parent at work. Cue Jack freaking out, Dana being supportive, and the residents scared shitless cause they've never seen Jack like this.

Warnings: mention of blood and violence

Jack Abbot was halfway through a consult, his coat flared open as usual and tie nowhere to be seen, when the radio call hit the ED like a freight train.

“Possible assault victim en route—female, late twenties, head trauma, stable vitals. ETA two minutes.”

He didn't flinch—until Dana’s voice followed up a second later.

“She asked for Jack. Said he’s her husband.”

Jack froze. It was one word—husband—but it cracked something wide open. He barely noticed the file slipping from his hand or how the residents stopped mid-motion, watching him.

“Jack?” Dana prompted gently, already moving toward the ambulance bay.

He was sprinting past them a second later, lab coat whipping behind him like a cape.

She was seated upright on the gurney, but barely. Blood matted the edge of her hairline, a deep bruise blooming purple down one cheek. Her hands trembled where they clutched the blanket around her.

“Jack.” Her voice cracked.

His face broke. “Jesus—Y/N.” He dropped to his knees at her side like the world had ended. “What the hell happened?”

“Todd’s dad. He came back after pickup… he was angry I reported the bruises on Todd’s arm,” she whispered, wincing. “He hit me. I—I fell into a desk.”

Jack’s hand hovered near her cheek, like touching her would shatter her. “I’m going to kill him,” he said, dead serious.

“Jack,” Dana warned quietly behind him, but her voice was calm—supportive. She gave a look to the residents loitering at the edges, whispering, wide-eyed.

They’d never seen Jack like this.

He was always blunt, always sharp—but now his rage simmered under the surface, focused like a scalpel. Not yelling. Just quietly, terrifyingly furious.

“She’s going straight for a CT,” he said to the nurse. “Neuro consult. Full trauma panel. I want her monitored until I say otherwise.”

“Already paged,” Dana said. “Let’s get her comfortable. Jack, you’re not on shift anymore. You’re with her.”

He just nodded, eyes never leaving you. His hands were bloodied from where he'd clenched his fists too hard. No one dared point it out.

Dana placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got the floor covered.”

One of the interns leaned toward Dr. Ellis. “He looks like he’s about to murder someone.”

“Because he is,” she whispered back. “And I hope someone tells that asshole parent to lawyer up.”

Jack looked at the resident team, tone sharp as broken glass. “If anyone fucks this up, I’ll bury your med school dreams where no one’ll find them.”

They all nodded. Not one made a sound.

The curtain was pulled, monitors humming low in the dimmed room. You lay curled on your side, hospital bracelet loose around your wrist, the scent of antiseptic lingering faintly under the warmth of clean blankets.

Jack sat beside you, one hand cradling yours, thumb moving in slow circles over your knuckles. He hadn’t let go since you were cleared. Concussion. Some bruised ribs. A sprained wrist. Nothing internal. Nothing broken. But you were shaken.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” His voice was raw now—stripped of its usual edge. “Really okay?”

“I’m here,” you whispered, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “And you’re here.”

His jaw ticked. He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead so gently it made you ache.

“I should’ve been there,” he murmured. “I should’ve—”

“You can’t be everywhere,” you said softly. “You were here when it counted.”

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against yours. “I’ve never felt that scared before. Not even in med school. Not even in war zones or trauma bays. Just—you. Hurt. And me not there to stop it.”

You slipped your free hand to his jaw, guiding his gaze back to yours. “You’re here now. That’s all I need.”

Silence stretched, warm and heavy. Then you shifted a little, your voice barely above a breath.

“I was going to wait… make it special… but after today—”

Jack tensed. “Wait for what?”

You smiled, nervous. “They did a blood panel. One of the nurses saw my chart and asked if I knew yet. And I did because I was going to make it special but-”

He blinked, brows knitting, voice steady as he interrupted. “Knew what?”

You reached for his hand, and this time, you brought it low—rested it gently over your abdomen.

“I’m pregnant, Jack.”

He froze. Just for a second. His palm spread wide against your belly like he was afraid to press too hard.

“You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, eyes glassy. “Six weeks.”

Jack let out a long, shaky breath, then leaned forward and kissed you—long, lingering, reverent. His hand never left your belly.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So damn much.”

“I love you too.”

Outside the curtain, Dana walked by with a quiet smile. One resident started to ask something, but she shook her head.

“Not now. Let them have this.”

[pathologicalreid]

Can I please request protective Spencer x BAU!Reader who get "lightly" hurt or put in danger bc SWAT or local police made a mistake, and Spencer goes OFF on them. Hotch or Rossi have to calm him down because no one but the BAU knows theyre dating. I'd love to see protective Spencer if possible :)

no sign of danger | S.R.

when SWAT makes a mistake that puts you in danger, your boyfriend is... displeased

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst content warnings: bloody nose, concussion, split lip, blood, mild violence. spencer reid says the f word. word count: 1.58k a/n: anon, not to be dramatic but something about writing this changed my brain chemistry. thank you for requesting!!! i hope you like it!

The time between arriving at a scene and when SWAT cleared the building was almost always intolerable. There were too many variables at play. It made you uneasy.

So, you waited, leaning on the side of an SUV with your Kevlar already strapped on, you turned to look at Hotch, “We’ve got an audience.”

Breadcrumbs that Garcia had picked up led the team to a house in a small town in Arizona. Unfortunately, the FBI garnered a lot of attention, and neighbors were starting to gather around the house. Hotch nodded, “Reid, JJ, work with the locals on crowd control, and make sure no one is recording. The last thing we need is for the news crews to show up.”

You offered Spencer a small smile as he turned to follow the blond to the barrier. He waved behind his back as he walked away.

Chuckling from right next to you got your attention, just to see Morgan shaking his head, “You two have it so bad.”

“I like to think we have it good, actually,” you said, flushing slightly. The teasing came with the territory, dating within the BAU meant never knowing a moment of peace – especially with Derek Morgan around.

There wasn’t an opportunity for him to respond, because as soon as he opened his mouth, your radio buzzed to life in your ear, “Building is clear. No sign of danger.” At the sound of the SWAT commander’s voice, you and Morgan surged forward to enter the building, Emily and Hotch following close behind.

Behind you, Hotch cleared his throat, “Morgan, Y/L/N, take the two rooms in the back, we’ll take the front.”

Nodding at your orders, you and Morgan walked past the staircase and to the opposite end of the house, where the kitchen and the den were. “This place looks like it’s been abandoned,” you thought aloud, dragging your index finger along the kitchen counter, and cringing when it came back covered in dust.

As you wiped your hand on your jeans, you looked up to see Morgan sorting through a vinyl record collection. “You’re right. It doesn’t look like anyone’s even entered this house in years.”

You hummed, opening the first cabinet you saw, wrinkling your nose at the discovery that the house also smelled like it had been abandoned. As you went to close the cabinet, the one below you swung open, the force of the doors almost knocking you to the ground.

Stumbling back, you saw a flash of hands before you were slammed into the refrigerator behind you. Immediately, you dropped to the floor, watching as Morgan tackled the guy and shouted for Hotch and Prentiss.

“We need an ambulance, Y/N’s down,” Emily spoke urgently into her radio while Morgan cuffed your attacker.

You winced at the way the radio buzzed in your ear; the way Emily’s voice echoed combined with the throbbing pain in your head made you nauseous. “What do you mean ‘Y/N’s down’?” Spencer’s voice rang through the radios, prompting you to haphazardly yank the coiled wire from your ear.

Everything sounded like you were underwater, Emily and Hotch asked you questions as the fog cleared from your head, “You’re bleeding,” Emily said, there was a worried look in her eyes.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand from your face, just to see it covered in blood. You weren’t even sure how long you had been holding your hand to your face. “Can you stand?” Hotch asked you, his tone was concerned, but there was something else buried within it.

Nodding slowly, both of them helped you stand. Emily hooked an arm through yours when you stumbled slightly, she led you out of the house and to the ambulance. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Morgan place his hand atop your attacker’s head, protecting it from the top of the police cruiser.

As soon as you sat down on the back of the ambulance, an EMT handed you a towel to hold to your nose. Your eyes flittered up to see Spencer approaching the ambulance, but to your surprise, he turned at the last moment and faced down the SWAT commander. “What happened in there?” He asked, his tone wholly accusatory.

“It looks like the person of interest was hiding in the kitchen when your team entered,” Commander Polk answered, obviously thinking Spencer was just asking for a sort of status report.

Spencer shook his head, “We’re hunting for a serial killer, and you had the audacity to miss the presence of an entire person?” He asked incredulously, “Did you even clear the kitchen?” He pointed in the direction of the house, where Rossi and JJ were now entering to look around more.

The SWAT commander faltered for a moment, “Someone did, but it wasn’t me personally.”

You winced as the EMT prodded at your face, surmising that your nose wasn’t broken, just bleeding badly as a result of the blunt force of the refrigerator. She pulled your hand from your face so she could inspect for any further damage. You opened your mouth to talk, but the EMT was quick to stop you, “You shouldn’t talk, not until we can look at the cut on your lip.”

While the EMTs got more supplies out, Emily helped you take off your Kevlar vest, undoing the Velcro for you and gently tugging it off. The entire front of it was covered in blood, you winced at the sight of the now-red letters.

“You need to figure out whoever checked the kitchen and make sure they know what they’re doing,” Spencer said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Commander Polk’s demeanor instantly changed, “I assure you, agent, we take training our team very seriously. This was just a mistake.”

Even from this distance, you saw Spencer roll his eyes. “First of all, it’s doctor,” he corrected – at which you rolled your eyes. “Second of all, of course, you take training seriously, it’s mandated by the federal government. This was a mistake, a mistake that ended in the injury of a federal agent,” you looked from Hotch to Spencer, hoping your unit chief would do something before Spencer got punched by the SWAT commander. “SWAT making mistakes gets other law enforcement officers killed,” he continued.

“What’s your point, doctor?” The commander asked.

Spencer cleared his throat, “I’m saying you’re fucking lucky she didn’t get killed, or else-“

“Reid!” Hotch called, stalking over to where your boyfriend was nearly getting into a fistfight with SWAT. He muttered something unintelligible to Polk before dragging Spencer away by the elbow, “What was that?”

Your boyfriend threw his hands up in the air, “He needed to be made aware of their mistake.”

Sternly, your unit chief shook his head, “They are aware, Reid, and I assure you I’m not going to drop it and there will be an internal investigation into what went wrong.” He raised his eyebrows, “That being said, it’s not your job to take care of mistakes made by other people.”

“No,” Spencer agreed, “but it is my job to take care of her,” he said, gesturing over to where you were sitting in the back of the ambulance.

Hotch pointed around to the locals and other SWAT members, “They don’t know that, Reid.” He whispered, keeping his voice down so he didn’t expose your relationship to everyone in the Arizona town. “Let me take care of it,” was his final statement before he walked back to Commander Polk.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Spencer spun around and finally walked over to you. Emily nodded at you before stepping away, “Are you alright?” He asked.

You flashed him a thumbs up, gesturing toward the EMT, who answered for you, “We just glued the gash on her lip, so she can’t really talk right now. She’ll be fine though, maybe a small scar, if anything.”

“Good,” Spencer said, ambling over and taking a seat next to you. “I was so worried about you,” he murmured, and you watched as he restrained himself from touching you.

Humming, you leaned into him for just a moment. Your movement was intentional, but it was quick enough that any passersby would assume you were just unsteady.

The EMTs left once the glue on your lip dried, directing you to ice it periodically to help with swelling and handing you care instructions.

You were left with a mild concussion, a split lip, and ruined clothes. All things considered, you felt like you were pretty lucky. The rest of the team piled into the SUVs, you and Spencer sitting in the back of one with Hotch at the helm and Emily in the passenger seat. “Who knew Reid had it in him?” Emily wondered aloud, eliciting a small laugh from you.

“I can’t believe you almost got into a physical fight with SWAT over a split lip and concussion,” you said, smiling slightly, but stopping as you felt the glue on your lip tugging.

Spencer rolled his eyes, “It wasn’t over the split lip and concussion, it was over the abhorrent display of-“

“Reid,” Hotch said in his no-nonsense tone.

Your boyfriend slouched back in his seat, “So, maybe it was over the split lip and concussion.”

Closing your eyes, you reached over the middle seat and took his hand in yours, “Thanks, Spence.” You whispered so that only he could hear, leaning over the gap between you and setting your head on his shoulder.

please remember to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[lumons]

every time i think i’ve figured out how adam scott got his concussion while filming severance, severance actually shows me an entirely new and possible way he might’ve gotten his concussion

[ghosts-and-glory]

Is Shamura training martial arts after being taken into Lamb's cult? If they enjoyed complexity and bloodshed of war than it'd be probably dissapointing for them if they had to... drop it all

Full under the cut because this turned out really long

Upon joining the cult Shamura was a shell of their former self. They join the cult dissenting, the long term effects of the crown still clawing at the edges of their mind, but after a few days they’re mortal, just themself. Without the crown to hold them together they suffer like their injury was yesterday.

The Lamb has the doctor, Puar, perform their usual tests on them. Shamura is hardly there. They don’t know their own name, can hardly speak, can’t stand or track movement.

There was no wisdom in their slurred words. No power in the way their hands shook.

The outlook is bad.

The Lamb doesn’t really want to help them, after everything, why should they. Shamura who had The Lamb’s entire race and family killed, who killed them aswell and countless of their followers. It would cost them so much, to try and help someone who spent so long just trying to destroy them and everything they had. The time, energy, resources it would cost and they didn’t even know if they could get better.

Deciding it wasn’t worth it was one thing, but getting the other ex bishops to understand was a whole other, even the doctor disagreed with them.

Dr Puar took on being their primary caregiver. They’d been a doctor for the past hundred years and seen concussions and dementia but nothing nearly as severe as this. They wanted to help Shamura but didn’t know how.

It wasn’t until Narinder joined the cult that The Lamb saw any reason to help Shamura. But there was something wrong with him and Shamura knew something, they just had to get to it.

Kallamar was the ex bishop Puar wanted the help from the most. He was scared of the lamb and red crown but he loved Shamura more.

The Lamb took Puar and Kallamar to the ruins of the temples in Anchordeep and Silk Cradle. They spent days digging through the decimated remains of the libraries for something, anything on this type of injury.

It seemed that they where looking down possible years of intense recovery. Needed herbs and medicines that may no longer exist, techniques Puar had never heard of. But they would try.

Puar took careful and detailed notes. Timed Shamura’s responses, wrote down everything they said, tracked eating, drinking, sleeping and every symptom they displayed. Improvements where slow and sometimes nonexistent at first. They took full minutes to respond and only in single words, barley moved, couldn’t feed themselves and suffered constant migraines.

The one thing that seemed to help them the most was their siblings. They didn’t remember them most days but every time one of they came to check in it raised their spirits. One of their faces was the only thing they could focus on sometimes.

Kallamar insisted he wasn’t a doctor but still worked around the infirmary, helping Shamura was the only thing he’d do without complaining. Heket spent hours sitting in silence with them, brought them food and flowers and changed their bandages. Leshy was the only thing that could get them to smile and they where the only person he would ever lower his voice for, he told them stories even though they hardly listened.

Improvements brought new challenges. They got better at speaking full sentences and following conversations but it revealed how fractured their memory was. Forgetting names, places and important events, how often they forgot where they where, they asked the same questions over and over again.

They complained of seeing and hearing things, phantom pains with seemingly no rhyme or reason. The sun hurt their eyes, rain gave them headaches, always sleeping but always tired. They would suddenly backslide constantly. One day could walk with minimal help and the next, couldn’t even hold a pen in their hand. Have a full conversation one day and hardly spit out their name tomorrow.

Until the day Puar looked Shamura in the eye and for once they saw him. Didn’t look past them with their blank stare but looked at them. They would ask to sit outside at night in the fresh air. They seemed to know now who they are, what they where, what they lost. A tinge of grief in their words.

Improvements brought frustration. On days they remembered who they where they were overcome with a mix of anger, guilt and despair. They where a god. They had bore down on armies, killed men with a twitch of a finger, brought other gods to their knees, and now they could hardly bring a cup to their mouth.

Emotionally, their siblings said they’d never seen them like this before. Before Shamura could be frustrated but their temper was cold and quiet. Now they wore a short fuse and suffered constant mood swings. It angered them that they couldn’t read, that their hands were numb, that they couldn’t walk without a cane, couldn’t go out in the sun, couldn’t string a full sentence together, couldn’t recognize their siblings faces, couldn’t feed themselves, couldn’t sleep without drugs, everything they lacked and lost wore them down.

Regardless, they where unusually steadfast. They would always pick back up. If they got frustrated they would try again in a few days. They tried anything Puar asked of them, anything for the smallest iota of improvement.

The outlook was better.

—————

This got out of control and took me like three days between the art and write up. I got really excited when I saw this ask cause the answer is so devastating. If I was taking Narinder’s trauma seriously I’m not gonna just ignore Shamura’s traumatic brain injury.

As a side note, I’m very unsure how to write the medical stuff, my guess is that cotl is based around 1300’s-1700’s but that’s a wide net to cast. My excuse for the stronger understanding of medicine and trauma is magic.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 beach

synopsis: after zoro finds you unconscious on an abandoned beach, he quickly takes you to shelter... where he learns that something's off.

cw: possible multiple parts, fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is so lost, reader's is a bit dense (only because she doesn't know), let's be real i think we can all tell what she is, miscommunication (kinda resolved), zoro is a gentleman

a/n: let's all pretend mermaids don't already exist in the one piece world <3 and look at my man's back in the picture yummy!

"Huh... I could've swore we left the Sunny right here..." Zoro muttered to himself, confused, as he scratched his chin, eye scanning over the expanse of the empty beach.

There wasn't a single ship in sight, nothing but waves and sand seeming to stretch for miles before him.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken that right back by at docks.

With a sigh, the Zoro dropped his shoulders, arm resting limply over the hilts of his swords as his free hand came up to shade his eye from the scorching sun.

"Guess there's no harm in walking a little further," he caved, pressing forward. "I stick to the shore, I'm bound to come across the Sunny eventually."

The crew had dropped anchor on a nearby port island for a much needed supply run, and after the girls split to go shopping, and the boys went chasing after Luffy, the swordsman decided to take his time exploring the island, leisurely sightseeing as he nursed a bottle of sake.

But, in true Zoro fashion, he managed to get himself turned around and eventually lost in the maze-like pier, the winding turns and frequent dead ends finally leading him to the edge of the island.

Hard Rock Cove.

Letting out another tired sigh, Zoro raised the sake bottle to his lips, taking a small sip before promptly pulling away, his expression contorting into one of disgust.

The summer island heat had turned drink unpleasantly hot.

'Jeez...'

If there was anything the swordsman wanted more, it was to be in the safety and shade of the crow's nest; where he could finally have a moment away from the broiling air and take a nice, well-earned nap.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

"Other plans" being you.

As he wiped the sweat off his brow, Zoro turned to look further into the beach, only to see an odd-looking figure lying on the ground, surrounded by seagulls.

'The hell...?'

He took a moment, eye squinting to get a better look, only to quickly widen once he realized what it was.

A woman.

You were lying there, unconscious and helpless to the screeching birds that had already begun to peck at your flesh.

"Crap," he hissed under his breath, breaking into a mad dash. "Damn things are gonna eat her alive!"

As he ran over, he started making loud noises, growling and roaring in order to scare the birds away from your possibly-living corpse.

"C'mon! Get outta here! Damn vultures! Leave her alone!"

Terrified, the seagulls quickly flapped away, squawking and shrieking at each other as they left to go find another meal.

With that out the way, Zoro sighed, allowing his shoulders to sink as he finally turned to you.

In which... he finally realized that you were completely naked.

"Crap!" he flushed, eye wide as he quickly turned his back toward you. "Where the hell are her clothes?!"

Not wasting a second, he shrugged off his robe, leaving himself shirtless as he draped it over your exposed body.

"She must be shipwrecked or somethin'. She's soaking wet," he muttered to himself, scratching the back of his neck. "Doesn't look too banged up, though..."

Bending over, Zoro carefully scooped you up, hooking his thick arms under your thighs and behind your back, cradling your—most likely—concussed head.

"Still, I should probably bring her back to Chopper. She might have somethin' wrong anyway."

Slowly, his gaze traveled toward your face, his breath hitching slightly as he finally got a good look at you.

Your skin was delectably sun-kissed, the water droplets creating a natural dew and giving it an alluring, ethereal shine.

Your hair was surprisingly soft and silky, cascading down your back and adorned with a few seashell-like, pearl-encrusted hair clips, two small strands of hair falling before your ears.

Your face was soft, long eyelashes fanning your naturally peachy cheeks while your plush lips remained in a perma-pout, your resting expression downright adorable.

Zoro's heart added another beat to its pattern, feeling as if the skin on his chest was heating up and tightening over himself, rendering him unable to breathe.

You were a vision—easily one of the prettiest women he had ever seen.

'Good thing I stumbled across her and not the damn cook.'

Out of nowhere, a water droplet hit the swordsman's nose, forcing him to glance up at the quickly darkening sky, the rain slowly beginning to pick up.

"Damn. I can't carry her through this. She'll die before I even make it to Chopper," he cursed, frantically glancing around for somewhere to hole up. "There gotta be somewhere around here we can lay low for a while..."

Luckily, he spotted a cave not to far away, large enough to shield you both from the weather.

"There."

Slightly stirring, you let out a faint groan, your eyes still unable to open.

"Relax. I'm getting us someplace safe," Zoro assured, picking up the pace as he made his way over to shelter.

A crackle of lightening punctuated his sentence, the suddenness causing even him to flinch ever-so slightly.

"Just sit tight."

Weakly, you let out another whimper, still stirring from your sprawled out spot on the cave floor.

"Still out cold..." Zoro grumbled, crouching down to your level before beginning to lightly tap your cheek. "Wake up... C'mon, woman, wake up... wake up."

Though, sadly, you didn't budge—quite literally out like a light.

"Damn... maybe I should move her closer to the fire?"

The two of you had been safely hidden away for quite some time now, and the swordsman was beginning to worry seeing as you had yet to wake up.

'Maybe she hit her head... got one of those brain-dead situations...'

If Zoro was being honest, he was probably the worst person to have around in this particular predicament.

Sure, he could keep you from being devoured by ravenous seagulls, and give you his clothes to keep from catching a cold, but past that he was pretty much useless.

He didn't have a single ounce of medical knowledge past Me hurt, me train, which was, to anybody else, pretty much inapplicable.

"Mmmph..." a light voice suddenly hummed, snapping the swordsman out of his thoughts.

Turning his head, his eye landed on you, watching intently as you slowly sat up, eyes fluttering open and brows furrowing.

"Good, you're awake," he nodded, a small smile rising to his lips. "Took your sweet time. You were startin' to make me worry."

"ᝰ.ᐟ꩜" you exclaimed, excitement apparent in your tone as your gaze settled on the flames not too far away.

Instantly, Zoro's expression fell, his relief replaced with confusion.

"Huh?"

Starstruck, you quickly crawled over to the fire, seemingly attempting to start a conversation.

"٠࣪⭑꩜.ᐟ ᯓ ⋆˚｡⋆ ꩜ .ᐟ"

"Hey, are you... all right? You hit your head out there or somethin'?" Zoro asked, raising a brow.

But you completely ignored him, too entranced by the dancing magic before you.

"⋆｡𖦹°‧.ᐟ"

Without thinking, you reached out to touch it, only to let out a squeak and quickly recoil at the painful burn.

"Hey! The hell are you doing? Don't touch that!"

Swiftly, Zoro strode toward you, carefully taking your hand to inspect the damage.

"Jeez, what the hell were you thinking? You trying to hurt yourself?" he grumbled, brows cinched as he took a better look. "What the—? Why the hell is the blister (f/c)?"

It rested on the back of your hand, far too soft and colorful to be a burn scab.

'Maybe that's just how she scars?'

Thoughtlessly, he grabbed it, attempting to pull it off quickly, but apparently it was really stuck on there.

"ᝰ.ᐟ" you yowled, clutching your hand and jumping back with a suspicious glare. "˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚.ᐟ"

"Uh..." Zoro paused, completely and utterly lost. "I didn't catch that?"

Confused, you raised a brow, sizing him up with the same look.

"٠࣪⭑꩜ ?"

"Well, look. At least let me cut that thing off. I don't know what it is, but it doesn't look good."

Slowly, he began to draw one of his swords, your eyes shooting wide at the sight.

""ᝰ.ᐟ"

Terrified, you tackled him to the stony ground, quickly crawling on top of his lap before weakly slamming your fists into his chest, forcing the swordsman to turn beet red.

"What the—?! Hey! Cut that out! I'm trying to help you!"

"𖦹⋆｡₊˚⊹☆.ᐟ"

"C'mon, get the hell off me! You're naked! You keep movin' around, that thing's gonna fall off!

"☆.ᐟ"

Letting out a sharp groan, Zoro grabbed you by your wrists, pulling you off and placing you down on the ground, much to your struggle.

"Hey, easy, alright? I'm not gonna hurt you, so take a second to calm the hell down," he ordered, tone firm as he held your arms still. "I get it. You woke up half-naked with some random guy and your scared. And you don't seem to speak the same language."

Scanning over your face, he watched as your eyes began to turn glassy, lip jutting out in a slight tremble.

His chest slightly sank, a bit of guilt sinking in as he realized his harsh tone probably wasn't the best choice.

Taking in a deep inhale, he decided to try again, re-calibrating himself for a softer approach.

"Look, I'm sorry for being so rough. It's just... I didn't expect this whole thing when I found you washed up."

Somewhat perky, you sat up straight, carefully taking his calloused hand in a handshake.

" ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ ᯓ ⋆˚｡⋆ ꩜ 𖦹⋆｡₊˚⊹☆.ᐟ"

You spoke eloquently, making a long, heartfelt speech about the importance of kindness, and how you would like to get to know the pretty, green man better in order to make him your friend.

But once again... Zoro caught none of it.

"I have no idea what you just said," he sighed, swiping a tired hand over his face. "Alright, maybe the sake's getting to me..."

Just then, a clacking-crawling sound began to echo within the cave, turning both your attention to the cave's entrance.

Where a vibrant blue crab ran in.

"What the—"

"࿓.ᐟ"

Overjoyed, you happily greeted the crustacean, scooping him up in your hands as he frantically rambled in your language.

"~ .° ｡𖦹˚.ᐟ"

"The crab can speak?!"

Quickly, it handed you a glass bottle, which was full of sparkling, swirling, purple liquid.

Suddenly understanding, you nodded, swiftly popping off the cork.

"Wait a second. You're not gonna drink that, are you?" Zoro asked, warily.

His suspicions were confirmed when you began to raise it to your lips.

"Hey! Stop it! You don't know what that is!"

But before he could lunge forward and smack it out your hands, you had already downed the entire thing, licking your lips and humming at the delightful taste.

"Mmm! Delicious, Sari! Thank you so much!" you grinned, smiling from ear to ear as you pulled the crab in to hug your cheek.

Zoro's jaw instantly fell slack, the man utterly floored by what he just witnessed.

'Yup... definitely the sake.'

"Y'know what... I'm gonna check on the fire," he caved, honestly done with this fever dream of a night.

"Hey, I can understand you now! How wonderful!" you gasped, pleasantly surprised. "Y'know, human language is complicated. You guys should really work on that."

"Human?" Zoro cocked a brow, now even more confused. "All right, woman, just who the hell are you? And what the hell were you doing washed up on the beach?"

"Hey, mister, why's your shell on me?"

"My... shell?"

"This green thing. It's sticking to me and, um, very uncomfortable. I wanna take it off."

"Nuh-uh! If you're doing anything, you're keeping that thing on," Zoro quickly denied, flushed, as he ran a tired hand through his hair. "Jeez, you must've hit your head harder than I thought. Just lay down."

"But I have so many questions..."

"I do, too... but as far as I'm concerned, I've had all I can handle from you tonight. So just lay down."

"But I wanna hold this bright, moving thing!"

"Quit trying to touch that! Just go to sleep!"

"But—"

"Sleep."

Offset by his rudeness, you let out a harsh huff, cheeks puffing in an adorable look of frustration.

"Fine! But I am going to stare at you so angrily!"

With a sigh, Zoro flopped down to the ground on his back, staring blankly at the cave ceiling.

"As long as you stay quiet and keep your clothes on... I don't care what you do."