#i do not need to suffer any longer !!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

britneyshakespeare · 1 month

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i have been working with kids for four years and i had to write my first ever note just now about a seventh grade boy being inappropriate towards me. i don't know what the hell this could possibly lead to or what. he was trying to feel my legs repeatedly to the point where i had to stop sitting next to him (and i was subbing for his one-to-one para!!!). he's got high support needs. in that kind of job, you're supposed to sit next to them all day and look over their work.

the teacher whose classroom this was happening in could also tell something was wrong. the whole class was acting kinda crazy because it was the day before school vacation week and there was another class coming in to share projects. so like, he was swamped with keeping order already. but we were sitting two feet away from his podium at the front of the room. the kid was giving him and me a hard time when he wouldn't take out his chromebook as he was instructed. and then when he did take out his chromebook, he immediately, for some reason, places it on my lap. he had been ogling my legs the whole time. he puts his computer ON MY LAP. and i'm just like, stunned, because what the hell? can you not keep it on your own lap, for some reason? i don't even know what to say, i just hold it a little above my lap while i'm thinking why on earth would this be happening? he would NOT do this to his regular para if she were here, would he? this can't be normal.

and the teacher sees this and within a minute places a stool in front of the kid for him to put his laptop on. and i'm like. oh ok. yeah. he notices exactly what's happening and that that's not appropriate. and then when the other class comes in to share projects he tells me "miss b——, you don't actually have to sit next to c—— this whole period if you don't want to." and he grabs me a chair for me to go sit with the other paras in the back opposite corner of the room. like he KNEW. and thank you mr. d—— for recognizing that because i was just kind of shocked and didn't know if i was overreacting in my head to all of this.

when there's a point in the class where the kids are discussing stuff, i privately mention what's happened to the para who's sitting closest to me. and she says that the thing about him calling me pretty is something he's been known to do, but the fact that he kept trying to touch my legs is new behavior. and that's a completely different class of behavior. i was telling him NO, don't do that, and he kept doing it. and the fact that he was calling me pretty repeatedly, even when i was giving him instructions that he wasn't taking. and this is the second to last class before the end of the day, so she says she'll take a walk with him before learning center and talk to him about it, and i'm grateful for that. she does. the kid apologizes to me as soon as i come into learning center. but like. WHAT the hell.

i'm STILL like what the hell. this is unfathomable to me. the other adults who i told about this or who witnessed it were supportive of me. but. what to do??? i wrote a long note to his regular para about this, because i knew she was going to hear about it at least from the first para i told. the second para i told about it after school had a kind of... i'm not gonna say enabling reaction, but i suppose since it had already been "taken care of" (or at least, he had been spoken to and apologized) she didn't really have much to add in the way of discipline. i told her what happened after school and she was just like... a little bit, laughing? like oh, yup, that dog. she at the very least confirmed he KNEW what he was doing, that that was not an accident. she said to me "i had a feeling he was going to develop a crush on you" (me and these other paras were together for most of the beginning of the day too). but it's like. it's not about that.

i have worked with children for FOUR years. children have had crushes on me before; i'm quite unfazed by it. boys from the ages of 5-to-15 have told me i'm so pretty before and asked me to marry them. i've never had them feeling up my legs before. i've never had them making me physically uncomfortable. it's NOT about this seventh grader having a crush on the pretty substitute. he is NOT unusual for that, at all. but i've never had a boy of any age or education level repeatedly touching my knees and thighs. THAT is problem behavior!!!

because what if i wasn't assertive enough with him to tell him to stop? what if i was a girl his age? worse, what if i was an adult who encouraged this behavior? i don't come to the middle school to be a seductress. i had no intention in putting on a pair of tights and a skirt this morning of being viewed as an attractive object, especially not by a pubescent boy. what if i did though? what if his interpretation of me wasn't so incorrect and offensive? what if i let him keep touching me inappropriately and saying flirtatious things to me? me, an adult in my mid-twenties, towards a middle school boy?

in no world would that be ok. if i had been feeling up and overly-complimenting a CHILD at my place of work, holy shit would there be reports about me. so a child acting that way could never be ok either. if it'd be firable for me to be reciprocating that action, then that action should not be happening to me. ever. and that child should never repeat that action again to any other adult again.

like i am simply not there to be treated as an attractive young woman. i put on a skirt that shows too much knee and get paired with a boy, though, and that's apparently just a natural consequence. hooo-ly shit. like i don't know what to do. first of all, the more time passes since this has happened, the more i am just unable to stop thinking about it. i wasn't "hurt" or too emotional in the moment but i'm just still processing it and it gets worse. i'm just more and more disgusted.

i don't know what i expect to come out of this, or the email i sent to his regular para. like, am i gonna have to attend a fucking meeting? what is the precedent that this sets for him? WHY do i feel BAD for him about this? well, because he's a child, of course. a child who has done wrong he may not be able to understand. but he knows WHAT he did. he just doesn't know WHY it was wrong.

and i couldn't even say something to him that was like, "well, how would you like it if i was touching you like this?" because young boys do not understand how inappropriate it'd be. i'm sure this kid thought he was gonna get away with what he was doing at the very least. but probably not unlikely he (being a child with no concept of how wrong it'd be) thought he could get some sort of "positive" attention for treating me like this. either way he was simply doing what he wanted to do, with no perspective of how it would make me feel or that it could be classified as harassment. teenage boys think it'd be awesome if the older attractive woman would reciprocate their affections. they're wrong. i, as the older attractive woman of his affection, cannot be the one to convince him of that, though.

i don't know. i don't know. like it's just so not ok. but if i didn't tell another adult about this, he would've gotten away with it. he would probably do it again. and him being in trouble for it is not the same as him understanding that it was wrong. unless someone has a REAL talk with him about inappropriate attention and consent, it's not unlikely that he'll just repeat the behavior in a setting where he thinks he won't be caught or told on. THAT'S the problem. me, i could just never have to be this boy's para again. in my email, i didn't say that i would never be ok working with or around him ever again. he already knows i didn't like it and i'm not afraid to tell on him; as far as that lesson applies to me, individually, i think he's become too ashamed to repeat that.

i don't know. i don't know. i very much expressed that i, i guess, "forgave" him in the email that i wrote. i clarified that i was writing it for the sake of having it on the record. i think that could potentially be very important for the purposes of preventing further similar or escalating behavior from him in the future. i don't want him to be in trouble. i don't think i will be blamed for this, especially not with how promptly i acted, although i don't know to what extent this will be framed as me thinking i'm a "victim." i'm not... i don't feel victimized. i feel disgusted. i feel afraid for the sake of what could happen to or with him in the future, if he thinks behavior like his towards me today is ok.

i feel like if i end up having to further respond to this, this will be made about me. in a way it kind of was. is? in the moment it was happening, it was certainly about me. because i was the one this boy was giving all this unwanted attention to. but to make the consequences of this about me and to involve me any further, i also don't want. because i said what i said already, i don't care if a student has a crush on me. this isn't about me being the pretty substitute. i'm the pretty substitute all the time, to tons of people. that's not really something i've been concerned about up until now.

but do i have to reexplain my personal embarrassment? that i was wearing a skirt? that he was ogling my legs? really? what more do i have to gain from sharing that, other than having the adults at my place of work confirm or deny me in their heads as the pretty substitute? i don't know. perhaps that's REALLY overthinking it. but i don't want to be the substitute that caused a problem for this special ed kid. i don't wanna be the reason that he can't be around me anymore, the person people think of when they're monitoring how he's acting around girls and young women. i DON'T want to be the one people think of when they think of his past misbehavior. i'm NOT here for that.

that's just fucking humiliating. and in this being a thing that could follow him, i have to be ogled and touched over and over again in people's minds for this to be taken seriously. but for this to be swept under the rug would be even worse, no? i don't know. i hate this. the principal is a nice guy; i wouldn't be surprised if he and/or people from the special ed department reached out to me sympathetically about this. but i don't wanna be reached out to. i don't wanna have ppl i work with tell me "sorry that kid was just so attracted to you he couldn't help himself" like come on. if the kid himself doesn't change then i don't really care to remember this incident. and no one reaching out to me and saying they've talked to this kid will actually prove to me he understands. this is the kind of inappropriate behavior it takes years for people to understand why it was wrong, especially a child who has no idea. i mean come on.

#tales from diana #long post #sorry i should probably put this under a read more but it was just a long stream of consciousness #and idk. im tired. im so tired #do you wanna be known as the substitute teacher a kid kept touching inappropriately? probably not #thank god for the first para i told bc she took it really seriously seemingly. i mean idk what she told him in their conversation #not EXACTLY what she told him. she obviously said this was wrong and she reiterated in learning center again #that if that were her daughter she'd be through the roof and that she'd be telling his regular para #i mean of course i had to tell the regular para directly. i would rather it come from my mouth #i'm the one who has the most information of how and why it happened. i think other ppl telling it would just reduce it to #'he thought she was so pretty and he kept staring at and touching her legs cuz she wore a skirt' like come on #the indignity of that!#i already feel undignified enough.#and also thank god for the social studies teacher. the more im processing this the more im like thank god #i dont know him well. he had already been a nice dude to me before in my interactions w him #like as a sub you notice the people who are really affirming of the strange and irregular work you do #earlier this week i was subbing for the math teacher across the hall for instance and he came in before class started and said #that if anyone's giving me a hard time to just send them to him. bc that group can be a little rowdy/wild #my classroom discipline skills are not that bad where i felt the need to have someone more experienced defend me so to speak #like i know i look young and am assumed to be new. but with most classes. i can handle most misbehavior #i can put my foot down in a way kids normally respect. i know how to keep em on task #and for MOST of the day with this kid that's what i was doing. but if that social studies teacher hadn't done what he did #i might not feel so bold in just straight up walking away from that kid. after saying stop stop stop repeatedly #like he had his own job to do independent of me but i remember the gestures and like. i could cry. he KNEWWWW #that's just a very trustworthy person i feel. he didn't want me to suffer through that any longer #a lot of teachers (unfortunately) largely ignore the kids with paras and/or expect the paras to communicate to the kid exclusively #that teacher is not like that. he was willing to mind that boy while i escaped that situation. so so grateful to him

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binch-i-might-be · 11 months

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right now I'm considering going on with my 21 hour work week for another couple months and saving up some more extra money and then switching to a minijob which is about eight to ten hours a week. would leave me with 520€ a month but I have a huge chunk of savings and I also would love to experience an emotion besides dread and horror and suffering. so. yeehaw

#i could make that work. i think #god please i just can't take this any longer #i would look for another job but i have zero qualifications and i simply will not drive farther than like twenty minutes anywhere #i would kill a man for a part time home office job fr #but i am stupid and useless and only barely good for retail so ❤️#if this is what i must do. i shall do it. as little as possible tho #my father is going to kill me for this but dome sacrifices need to be made #i am cradling this plan to me chest like a baby bird. i am promising myself an end to the suffering #even if i don't end up doing it. pretending i will is preserving my sanity #rayrambles

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sick-as-a-dog · 9 months

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#guess whos sis might be pissed off at them despite me begging for help and explaining that im struggling and in pain #nobody gives a shit about me and my needs do they i never ficmong asked for his bullshit it wasnt supposed to he like this #stepsis promised she wouldnt flake but that stupid fuckong asshole hasnt responded to any messages im so done #she hasnt payed me for taking care of her cat AT ALL even tho ive been holding her for longer than was agreed on #it was supposed to be a simple job only take care of them until they were weaned and rehomed #she was supposed to get her cat aleady she keeps saying she has homes for them and changing her mind why the fuck is she doing this shit #plus the damn cat chewed my headphones in half so she owes me a new pair but i fuckong know she wont pay that back #tempted to rehome her cat since she ONLY asks for kitten pics and doesnt contact me for anything else not even to check in on her cat #im so fucking tired and done with everything especially since its gotten so much worse since the toe infection #i tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and failed #and now moving at all is pure suffering so i definitely cant keep up cleaning after her asshole cat who apparently likes to shit everywhere #im tempted to hunt that stupid bitch down and force her to clean up every mess her fuckong cat made im so fuckong done with everything #doenst help i barly have any ebergy eber since he doent wanna be maets anynore xant even eat or sleep mucj cnat even love rogjy #so tired so pain juat eanna die i cant keep this shit up nothing is worth living for anymore tbh and now my sis is gonna make me feel worse #im going to lose my own cats befause of that atupid shitstain of a stepsister and uer cat im going to fuinkig vomit and kill so dnoe

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tsuuie · 1 year

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my thoughts chase their own tails like why do you suck? try to make yourself of more value -> why do i have to be an object of value :/ -> value is subjective and you should be given love not earning it -> oh right you ARE fundamentally unloved. my bad. kill yourself

#and its like ummmm why do i need to suffer indignity any longer when i can just kill myself #and dont tell me not to because you would be sad fuck off! bitches who ascertain that you wont die and then immediately go away piss me off

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moodyvamp · 3 months

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guys i don't think touching grass will be enough this time

#feeling hopeless about my transition again after reading the experience of other trans people in my country :(#all these posts saying ''trans people you should stay alive'' i'm trying!! but how can i do that if i am #denied the possibility to live my life authentically #my parents wouldn't be accepting if i came out to them and wouldn't support me in my transition #the place where i study won't let me change the name on the school platforms unless i have the certificate from a gender therapist #(and i wouldn't be able to make the name change go through anyway because my parents have to look at my student page to handle payments)#and now i'm terrified of the therapy part too because if they decide i'm not suffering enough they will deny me the care that i need #so i'm stuck and it hurts #it hurts to see that all my friends who have begun the transitioning process have supportive families that call them by the correct name #and my family will never be like that #i don't know if i can go on like this any longer

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faultsofyouth · 3 months

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I was talking to my nb a few weeks ago about our relationships with our parents and when I said something like "I don't expect you to forgive your parents because your parents treated you worse than mine did" he hit me with "I don't think that's true. I never slept in someone's shed to get away from My parents" and im sat here days later like 😶

#my posts #to me forgiving my mom was *chokes* easy bc our relationship was strained by male violence and that wasnt her fault #and once i accepted it wasnt her fault i stopped trying to convince Her to change in an attempt to solve the male violence #and then she had an ally and she stopped acting like a battered woman and we were able to connect the way we needed to #+ the male violence mostly stopped so we no longer live in a setting that is actively traumatizing.#which will do wonders for any relationship #thats not really the case for my partner who has bad relationships with their parents bc they never listen to him #they let him suffer for years with cysts in his wrist and backpain that turned out to be from DDD and refused to take him to the hospital #for either #they are also homophobic so they never came out as bisexual and most likely will never come out as trans to either of them #so thats a very different kind of relationship from what i have with my mom. who has always been my biggest supporter #even when she was my enemy #but. nb never slept in a shed just to avoid going home to a violent fight #thats true. and nb doesnt cry when the door slams hard or when it thunders too loud. thats also true #that boygirl has only ever slept in a shed in order to keep me from sleeping alone in the cold all night. when they could have gone inside #and slept on a mattress in a heated room. i dont think of that night as a bad night #my best friend was with me out in the cold. i wasnt alone. not everybody would do that for me #the friend whose shed we slept in certainly didnt

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youngks-smile · 3 months

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What I Want You To Know About Long COVID

Well lads, I've been suffering from Long COVID for over a year now. My life is at a complete standstill. I'm 25 years old and I'm too sick to go back to school, I can't work, I had to move back in with my parents and I'm still stuck here.

Here are just a few things I wish people knew about Long COVID, including things I didn't know myself until I got it.

COVID destroys your immune system. Yes, even if you don't have Long COVID. Are you getting sick more often now? When you get sick, does it last longer? There are many studies showing that COVID causes t cell depletion, even in mild COVID cases! T cells are how your body remembers how to fight off infections you've had before so losing those cells? Bad news.

Your initial infection can be mild and you can still get Long COVID. Right from Yale Medicine, "Most people with Long COVID had mild acute COVID." (This is also a good link for a basic Long COVID overview).

There can be a gap of time between when you "get better" from the initial COVID infection to the onset of Long COVID symptoms. Some people get sick with an initial COVID infection and never get better. Some get better and then weeks or months later start developing Long COVID symptoms. Long COVID symptoms can even fluctuate over time, can go away for months and then suddenly come back.

So many people have Long COVID and don't realize it. Do you feel more tired lately but no matter how much you sleep, nothing helps? Is it harder to concentrate at work or school? Can you just not think like you used to? You could have Long COVID and not even know it. Even mild post-COVID symptoms are still Long COVID.

COVID can do anything to your body. Long COVID has over 200 recognized symptoms and can affect basically any part or system of your body. There is no one mechanism or cause of Long COVID which unfortunately also means there's no one cure either.

The effects of COVID are cumulative. Each COVID reinfection increases your chances of developing Long COVID. COVID is also affecting your body in other ways, yes, even if you're otherwise young and healthy! "Repeat COVID-19 infections increase risk of organ failure, death".

Once you have Long COVID, repeat COVID infections will make your symptoms worse. "80% [of Long COVID patients] saw their symptoms worsen [from reinfection]. In 60% of people who were in recovery or remission from Long COVID, reinfection caused a recurrence of Long COVID."

There is a lot more I want to say about Long COVID but I want to keep this post at least somewhat manageable to read. Like how when COVID is contracted during pregnancy, those COVID-exposed fetuses have a 6.3-fold increased risk of motor developmental delays, or that another study found 50% of babies exposed to COVID in utero had developmental delays.

You need to keep caring about COVID, for others around you and also for yourself even if you're "healthy". Everyone is at risk. And don't forget 40-60% of COVID infections are asymptomatic, which is why masking even if you feel fine is crucial. The only way right now to not get Long COVID is to not get COVID in the first place. It's not too late, if you've stopped masking it's never too late to start again! I know it's easy to get distracted by things in your life that seem more real than the possibility of getting sick some time in the future, and the peer pressure to not mask can be intense. But it only feels less real or less important until your entire life is having Long COVID. Trust me.

I know this is a complicated issue, many people can't afford to stay home when sick even if they want to because of their jobs, there are disgusting policies trying to ban wearing masks, but please if you can. Keep masking. Masking works, masking saves lives.

This post got a bit longer than I wanted so below the cut is a non-exhaustive list of my Long COVID symptoms and some of my experiences as one of the "healthy young people" who got "unlucky". cw brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Welcome to the Thunderdome that is my body with Long COVID. Keep in mind these are just my experiences and symptoms, Long COVID can cause any range of symptoms at varying severities.

Dysautonomia: Exercise intolerance, Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM), fatigue, and heat intolerance. What do those things mean? Here's some specific examples. Absolutely terrible circulation I am so cold all the time but also, if I get a little too warm I will pass out. Eating hot food makes my heart rate spike, I sweat, my body feels heavy. Blood pooling and pins and needles in my feet when I walk. Don't even think about exercising past walking, it's impossible. I used to work out an hour a day 4 times a week and now walking up one flight of stairs makes my heart pound and I can't breathe. Can't take even just warm showers anymore or I will pass out. Heat rashes from being in the sun for 10 minutes.

Digestive issues: Honestly too many to name but: constant bloating, extreme nausea, constipation, slow motility, lack of appetite, just so much cramping and pain. I lost 18 pounds from Long COVID, as someone who was already considered underweight their entire life, and almost had to get a shunt put into my chest to deliver nutrients because I was nearly completely unable to eat. For the first 6 months of Long COVID, if I could manage 600 calories a day, that was a good day.

Histamine intolerance: Oh boy. My worst symptoms, I don't even know where to start with it. If you know Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) it's very similar. I can only eat 19 foods. If i eat a single bite of something not on that list, it's 48 hours of absolute hell. Coughing, migraines, itchy eyes, such extreme nausea I cannot even describe it, panic/feeling of doom, racing heart rate, derealization, rash, uncontrollable muscle tremors. I only learned about histamine intolerance 5 months into having Long COVID so before that, I was experiencing these symptoms nearly every single day. Terrifying isn't even a strong enough word to describe how it felt to experience all this and have no idea what it was, how to stop it, or if it would ever stop. Really dark times.

Neurological issues: More of that derealization. Inability to concentrate. Anxiety. OCD-like symptoms such as thoughts getting "stuck" in my head, repeating 24/7 completely unable to stop them, genuinely felt like my brain had cracked open and I had lost my mind. Constant dizziness like I'm on a boat.

Sleep issues: I sleep like garbage. I have insomnia, I wake up dozens of times every night and every single time I sleep I have intensely vivid dreams. I can't sleep longer than 7 hours total no matter how exhausted I am. It is exhausting. I'm exhausted, I'm so so tired.

And finally. Just. Really intense suicidal ideation. My body, my health, my entire life has been stolen from me because someone else decided my life was worth less to them than wearing a mask or staying home if they feel sick. Before I got Long COVID, I was preparing to go to South Korea to teach English, then on to a PhD in neurolinguistics, I was supposed to meet my long distance partner and had already booked plane tickets when I got sick. All of that has been destroyed.

Most of us with Long COVID are stuck in a cycle of being extremely sick, then if you're lucky you'll slowly get better over months, just to get reinfected and go right back where you started or worse. Honestly, I'm not scared of dying from COVID. I'm scared of living for a long time, suffering from Long COVID the entire time. This isn't living.

I don't know how to end this now. I'm still fighting, I'm trying experimental treatments, I'm not giving up yet. I hope everyone reading this stays healthy and well.

#long covid #covid 19 #covid isn't over #pandemic

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pigaletta · 7 months

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#Being in vet med is so damn bleak all the time because whenever you get hope there's always some drawback that basically nullifies it.#looking for a clinical pg with rank 183 in the country but whoops can't go to your own state #and other states universities will put you in a college in buttfuck nowhere rather than their best ones #like...I am so fucking tired. Every time I try to fight my depression something comes back and reinforces it harder.#it's things like this that make me want to leave the field and do something less heavy even if the hours are longer #whenever. WHENEVER I talk to a vet it's just bleak. Everything sucks everywhere. It's a matter of choosing your hell.#EVEN THE HAPPIER VETS #And there's no promise that if I try to go abroad I won't get crippling depression there too.#like. why do I try? why didn't I choose to go to NISER when I had the chance?#Why didn't I pick a job where I can just sit at a computer all day and not have to talk to anyone #how much do airport ground staff earn? maybe I could be a tug driver. Maybe I could have done some degree to become a flight mechanic.#why didn't I know when I finished school that my mental health is fragile as fuck and I need a job that doesn't make it this much worse #I'll run a photostat shop. I'll learn to fix laptops. Anything.#People raise families with that kind of income. Surely I can look after myself with it.#Why is everything bleak all over the world all the time in veterinary medicine? why is there no silver lining anywhere?#I'm sick of this. I'm sick of being decent at my job but not being able to handle the reality of how stressful it is.#I'll do any manual labour job day in and day out six and a half days a week for my whole life but this is just killing me #rant #I'm unrealistic and ungrateful and addicted to quick dopamine #but god I wish I wasn't suffering from depression of varying degrees since 2015.#vent #personal

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nereidprinc3ss · 28 days

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hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied.

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details.

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name.

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror.

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause.

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it.

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort.

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is.

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably.

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing.

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—”

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face.

Oh. He was fucking with you.

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer.

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you.

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies.

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic.

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you.

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room.

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder.

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back.

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately.

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin.

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are.

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer.

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach.

Something resembling jealousy.

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid.

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you.

You swallow and try to act like yourself.

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see.

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in.

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively.

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place.

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable.

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job.

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it.

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown.

She makes a good point.

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail.

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut.

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer.

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl.

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen.

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny.

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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dante-mightdie · 1 month

Note

Not enough suffering. I need to cry.

The boys just continue to pretend that reader no longer exists. Becoming more of a fly on the wall then a roommate they occasionally fuck.

Soon they just leave you out of everything, dinner? There was not even leftovers for reader, no scrapes left either.

Reader won't leave because they will soon come back around tho right? >:')

god I just love PAIN

c/w: neglect, angst, no happy ending in this one, brief mentions of sex

it becomes a very depressing and very predictable pattern from them. wake up, avoid you then go to sleep. even when they speak to you, they’re never saying much. normally just a reminder that you left dishes in the sink or something mundane

you held out hope for the first few days, especially when simon came slinking over to you one night in the kitchen, bending you over the counter and having his way with you. his rough hands and fast pace made your heart swell solely because you missed having one of them even touch you

but when he just buckled up his trousers and left without a word, you realise you’re still on time out

sometimes you’re asleep before they get home, locked up in the spare room as you sniffle into your pillow. they don’t even come to check on you and you begin to wonder what conclusion they came to on your whereabouts. do they even know you’re at home? do they care?

every day of the month, you and the boys are supposed to set aside a night to go out for a date. seems your invite was lost in the post when you see them all dressed up, talking amongst themselves about the pub they’re going to

“can I come?” you ask, standing in the doorway and playing with your fingers nervously. the laughing and chattering stops instantly, all four heads turning to you as if they didn’t even know you were there. you know what the answer is going to be before any of them say anything

“you won’t like this place. it-“ john starts, and you know he’s about to list off some lazy excuse as to why you won’t like it. as if that was even the point. you don’t go on date nights with them for the actual drinks or decor. you go to spend time with them but they clearly didn’t want you there so you simply wouldn’t go

“whatever.” you mumble, rolling your eyes and turning to leave what was once your shared bedroom so they don’t see the tears in your eyes. you slam the door to the spare bedroom, throwing yourself onto the mattress and sobbing into the pillow

you hear a light tap on the door before it opens. you cease your crying almost instantly, keeping your back turned towards the door. your heart rate picks up and that sick familiar feeling of hope crawls its way back into your chest, “we weren’t saying you can’t come with us. come if you want just don’t make us wait around forever whilst you get ready.”

the sound of kyle’s voice fills the room but you can tell he doesn’t really want to be speaking to you, like simon or the captain told him to come do some damage control so you wouldn’t throw a strop about not being invited. you keep your back turned to him, nuzzling your head further into the pillow

“jus’ go without me.” you sniffle, “it’s not like you really want me there anyway.”

kyle sighs at your words and you hear your door softly click close and everyone’s feet shuffling downstairs before they go out the front door, leaving you alone again

#mw2 #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #poly!141

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enbycrip · 1 year

Text

Pretty much no impairment is as simple as abled people think it is.

People are taught to believe that disability is a simple “Can’t”. Can’t walk. Can’t talk. Can’t hear. Can’t see. An ability is just excised and no longer exists, if it ever did.

In reality, it’s rarely that simple.

It’s “I can sort of do x thing sometimes, but I get muscle spasms making it very dangerous or impossible to do it reliably or safely”. Or “I can do x thing but it causes me so much pain I will be unable to do anything else for hours or days after doing it”. Or “I can do x thing but I constantly injure myself doing it because of lack of muscle control”. Or “I can do x thing but so badly I functionally can’t do it two inches beyond my face, but now I have a mobile phone I can put up to my face so I can do it in certain very specific circumstances”.

None of these things mean someone isn’t disabled. And if you think it does, then it’s *your* ideas about disability that need to change.

The reason disabled people end up saying “can’t” when the reality is more complex is because people don’t trust our boundaries. They force us to injure ourselves instead of accommodating, or use energy that means we have none left to do *anything* else we need to do for the rest of the day. Or week. Or month.

Abled people need to start trusting disabled people, or you need to shut up, get out of any situation where you have power over us, and provide someone who will. Those are the only options.

The way we are expected to live in a performative hell of the making of more privileged people who then turn around and criticise us for not suffering in the precise way they have decided we should is genuinely nothing but ridiculous.

Just stop.

#disabled #disability #disableism #chronic illness #chronic pain #chronic fatigue #ableist bullshit #disableist bullshit #ableism #impairment #sick of this shit #the ableds are at it again

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dudeitiskarev · 2 months

Text

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

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kentopedia · 7 months

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ panacea — levi ackerman

summary. it's been hard to talk to levi after the rumbling

contents. written with fem!reader in mind but no gendered pronouns used, ex-scout!reader, postwar!levi, established relationship, sfw, angst, comfort, references to ptsd and depression, early in the healing process — 2.1k

notes. writing post-war levi is a little intimidating, but i hope i did him justice <3 please ignore any spelling or grammar isses

the sound of a crash in the other room pulled you out of your sleep, tugging you out of a nightmare that you didn’t want to be caught in anyway.

a groan came next—hushed but still audible, following the sound of something falling. though there was no need to be on alert, your heart hammered in your chest, your mind still caught in the titan’s den, not the place you called home.

when you finally calmed down, reshaped your thoughts to reality, you shifted onto your other side, reaching out for levi. though, he wasn't in the bed besides you; the space had grown cold, the blankets thrown back. the shape of his head was no longer evident on the pillow.

you sat up, moving quickly as you shook off the covers and padded into the other room. the brisk night air caused you to shiver, and the floor was even colder under your bare feet. still, you were too focused on the sounds you’d heard to even worry about grabbing a jacket.

there was a light on in the living room, a candle lit on table, and a book propped open next to it. clear signs that levi had been awake for a while, that sleep eluded him, even now.

“levi?” you said softly as you rubbed your eyes, your voice hoarse from misuse. “are you okay?”

you wrapped an arm around yourself, swallowing down any pity as you blinked at the dismal sight of levi next to the wheelchair, his expression screwed up in a blizzard of frustration and defeat. his legs laid out in front of him, and he stared at them, blue eyes hard as if trying to will them to do his bidding.

this wasn’t the first time that levi had tried to push himself too hard, that he had tested his physical limits, and it wouldn't be the last. for years, he’d survived on sheer willpower. he’d gotten out of the underground from his own force and strength, his promise to erwin enough to keep him alive despite everything he suffered.

though, for once, even his determination wasn't enough. it couldn’t rewind the clock, couldn't make his legs as they’d once been.

it had been an adjustment, and it still was—though, everything after the rumbling was an adjustment.

for a while, after it had ended, levi hadn’t spoken to you. he didn’t want your help, and though you wanted to be by his side, you didn't want his anger. the last thing you wanted to do was make him feel smothered.

you tried your best to be patient. you’d continue to be patient with him, even when sometimes, you felt like he forget that you had lost, nonetheless.

“i’m fine,” he said gruffly, pulling himself up with the strength that he refused to let go of. levi was weaker now, his physical capabilities nowhere near where they’d once been, but he was still levi ackerman—he always would be.

you watched him struggle for a moment, and you chewed your lip, taking a step forward. “levi…”

“i said i’m fine.” he didn’t quite shout at you, but his tone was sharp, his voice raised in the commanding way he’d always used as a captain.

since the day you’d met levi, he’d always been snappy, sarcasm dripping from his tongue, but he was never cruel. now, though, he was content to let his bitterness serve as a balm for his wounds instead of your affection.

but things like that didn’t bother you anymore. a careless bite of snark couldn’t bother you when you’d been to hell and back with him.

“okay.” you blinked, shifting on your heels, feeling stupid and confused and guilty. though for what, you weren’t sure. still, you could do nothing but stare as levi dragged himself back into the wheelchair, putting pressure on the leg that had not been completely shattered. “please be careful.”

“can you just—” levi snapped, but then his gaze met your own, piercing your lost, uncertain irises, and he softened. a long, careful sigh released, and he retraced his words, starting again. “i’m sorry. but you don’t need to worry so much. it’s been enough time.”

you nodded, and levi turned back to his book, pulling himself closer to the table. as he glued his eyes on the pages, you glanced at his scars, his beautiful hands, a testament to his strength and all he’d done to survive.

despite yourself, tears welled up in your eyes, and you batted them away, not wanting him to see. maybe, sometimes, levi didn’t feel the same... but you were grateful, every day, that he was still alive. “will you ever talk to me?”

he turned, craning his neck to face you, playing the fool. “about what? i’m talking to you right now.”

your lip quivered at his impassivity. “don’t do that again to me, levi. you know what i’m talking about. sometimes you're content to pretend like nothing’s changed, and it tears me apart.”

levi shifted his arms, regarded you with a long stare, his lips curled into something between a sneer and a frown. “then you’re welcome to leave. i don’t need a caretaker.”

you gawked at him, knowing that he was only trying to push your buttons, but it annoyed you nonetheless. the comment was so out of left field that you couldn’t wrap your head around where it had come from. all you’d wanted to do was love him, show him your unwavering care and support, without feeling like a stifling annoyance.

though, for a moment, doubt consumed you. maybe you hadn’t done enough. perhaps you had become a recluse of your own in the recent months, still recovering from everything you’d gone through. “leave? why would i leave?”

levi’s eyes narrowed, though more out of curiosity, a deep inhale escaping him. he peered back down at his hands, his legs, before deflating. “i’m not the person you fell in love with. i’m not humanity’s strongest anymore. i’m a man who can’t even stand on his own.”

“levi—” you rubbed your hands together, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. “do you honestly think i care about that? you hate being called that anyway.”

he snorted, but it was full of a defeat you’d never known him to show. “maybe i got used to it.”

silence fell between you, and though you understood, knew what he was admitting to you, you found yourself at a loss for a words. talking with levi had once been so easy, but now, it felt like you could never say the right thing.

you opened your mouth, willing something sensible to come out, but levi beat you to it, slicing his chest open and bearing it to you with bloodied hands.

“i just…” he began, his face pinched at the sound of his weakened voice. “i’m just not sure what i’m supposed to do now. i spent the past decade fighting. and the decade before that, fighting. and the decade before that…”

your heart ached. you took a step forward, close enough so you could touch him. “but you don’t need to fight anymore. the war is over.”

“the war is never over.” the words didn’t leave as much of a punch as he intended. levi finally turned to face you, something sad in his dark blue irises. “those brats could barely win with me, imagine them without me.”

you softened. levi’s pain was unending. perhaps a part of him still grieved for the man he’d been before the war, but you knew that was not the reason for his melancholy. you knew, even if he never said it, that he felt as if he’d failed all the kids he’d brought onto his squad. that he’d failed eren.

“levi, they’re not children anymore,” you said quietly, grasping his hand. you remembered being nineteen, being thrust into the bloodshed and misery of the world you lived in. at least, now, levi’s squad could try to live a semblance of a normal life. they got an early start, a chance to try again, even if still wracked by anguish and longing. “if they need to fight, they can fight. you’ve done your time, my love. you’ve given more than enough.” you brushed your fingers along his scars. “let yourself rest.”

a beat passed before he answered.

“i don’t know how.”

you swallowed, biting back the sadness that you didn’t feel warranted to. sometimes, knowing everything that levi had suffered, knowing the depths of his pain, made you feel undeserving of your disdain towards the world. even if you were hurting too.

“i know,” you said, running your other hand through his hair, flattening the pieces that had been disheveled in his sleep. “but i want to be there for you. i want to heal with you. please don’t push me away, levi. if you think you’re doing me a favor, you’re not.”

“i’m never going to be the same as i was before,” he said sharply, as if that could somehow change your mind.

you brought yourself closer to him, releasing his hand so you could wrap your arms around him instead, bring his head to your chest in a warm embrace. for once, levi didn’t protest. he leaned against you, inhaling, letting his arms rest limply on his lap.

“no one is the same. the rumbling changed us all. even me. you’re such a fool if you think anyone can look at you and see a weak man.” you squeezed him tighter. levi’s arms came around you as tears spilled out of your eyes, his palm warm on your lower back. “you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met. it breaks my heart that you could think otherwise.”

tears dripped off your chin, falling into his hair. although you tried to stop them, letting go of levi and sniffling to wipe your eyes, you couldn’t cease the ache in your chest. you released the sobs you’d held back for his sake, for everyone’s sake.

why should you get to cry when everyone else had lost so much?

“i love you, just as you are. i fell in love with you because of the kindness in your heart, and i will always love you because of that. i—”

“hey,” levi pushed you away, reaching up to wipe at the tears that lingered on your cheek. “i didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said, looking more horrified about that than he had the past few weeks of recovery and hospitalization. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”

“i’m okay,” you tried, lip quivering at the feeling of levi’s fingers on your cheek. it had been a while since you’d kissed him like you meant to, memories of war consuming every peaceful moment between you.

“no. you’re not.” he sighed, stroking your face with tender eyes, the malice melting away from his expression completely. “you’re not. i should’ve noticed.”

“i’m good about hiding it."

“that doesn’t make it any better,” he frowned, cupping your cheeks with both hands. “i know that better than anyone. i know you better than anyone.”

you turned into his hand, kissing his palm tenderly, beneath the spot where his index and middle finger had once been, stopping him before he could apologize again. “and i know you, levi. i know we should both stop trying to hide our pain from the other, and try our best to move on together.” you sighed, smiling through your tears. “can we do that?”

levi stared at you for a moment, eyebrows knit together as he wiped at the wetness, the shadows under your eyes. though there was a battle behind his irises, a conflict, there always had been. for the remainder of his life, for the peaceful years you’d get to cherish together... even then, you weren’t sure levi could let go of the war.

but that would be okay. after all, you’d always sworn to fight to the death by captain levi ackerman's side.

the exhale from your chest breathed life through levi's inhale. a smile smile graced his lips as you finally stopped crying. he nodded.

“we can try.”

thank you for reading! reblogs appreciated!

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