#when i seriously need medical care | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cocklessboy · 11 months

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The biggest male privilege I have so far encountered is going to the doctor.

I lived as a woman for 35 years. I have a lifetime of chronic health issues including chronic pain, chronic fatigue, respiratory issues, and neurodivergence (autistic + ADHD). There's so much wrong with my body and brain that I have never dared to make a single list of it to show a doctor because I was so sure I would be sent directly to a psychologist specializing in hypochondria (sorry, "anxiety") without getting a single test done.

And I was right. Anytime I ever tried to bring up even one of my health issues, every doctor's initial reaction was, at best, to look at me with doubt. A raised eyebrow. A seemingly casual, offhand question about whether I'd ever been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Even female doctors!

We're not talking about super rare symptoms here either. Joint pain. Chronic joint pain since I was about 19 years old. Back pain. Trouble breathing. Allergy-like reactions to things that aren't typically allergens. Headaches. Brain fog. Severe insomnia. Sensitivity to cold and heat.

There's a lot more going on than that, but those were the things I thought I might be able to at least get some acknowledgement of. Some tests, at least. But 90% of the time I was told to go home, rest, take a few days off work, take some benzos (which they'd throw at me without hesitation), just chill out a bit, you'll be fine. Anxiety can cause all kinds of odd symptoms.

Anyone female-presenting reading this is surely nodding along. Yup, that's just how doctors are.

Except...

I started transitioning about 2.5 years ago. At this point I have a beard, male pattern baldness, a deep voice, and a flat chest. All of my doctors know that I'm trans because I still haven't managed to get all the paperwork legally changed, but when they look at me, even if they knew me as female at first, they see a man.

I knew men didn't face the same hurdles when it came to health care, but I had no idea it was this different.

The last time I saw my GP (a man, fairly young, 30s or so), I mentioned chronic pain, and he was concerned to see that it wasn't represented in my file. Previous doctors hadn't even bothered to write it down. He pushed his next appointment back to spend nearly an hour with me going through my entire body while I described every type of chronic pain I had, how long I'd had it, what causes I was aware of. He asked me if I had any theories as to why I had so much pain and looked at me with concerned expectation, hoping I might have a starting point for him. He immediately drew up referrals for pain specialists (a profession I didn't even know existed till that moment) and physical therapy. He said depending on how it goes, he may need to help me get on some degree of disability assistance from the government, since I obviously shouldn't be trying to work full-time under these circumstances.

Never a glimmer of doubt in his eye. Never did he so much as mention the word "anxiety".

There's also my psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with ADHD last year (meeting me as a man from the start, though he knew I was trans). He never doubted my symptoms or medical history. He also took my pain and sleep issues seriously from the start and has been trying to help me find medications to help both those things while I go through the long process of seeing other specialists. I've had bad reactions to almost everything I've tried, because that's what always happens. Sometimes it seems like I'm allergic to the whole world.

And then, just a few days ago, the most shocking thing happened. I'd been wondering for a while if I might have a mast cell condition like MCAS, having read a lot of informative posts by @thebibliosphere which sounded a little too relatable. Another friend suggested it might explain some of my problems, so I decided to mention it to the psychiatrist, fully prepared to laugh it off. Yeah, a friend thinks I might have it, I'm not convinced though.

His response? That's an interesting theory. It would be difficult to test for especially in this country, but that's no reason not to try treatments and see if they are helpful. He adjusted his medication recommendations immediately based on this suggestion. He's researching an elimination diet to diagnose my food sensitivities.

I casually mentioned MCAS, something routinely dismissed by doctors with female patients, and he instantly took the possibility seriously.

That's it. I've reached peak male privilege. There is nothing else that could happen that could be more insane than that.

I literally keep having to hold myself back from apologizing or hedging or trying to frame my theories as someone else's idea lest I be dismissed as a hypochondriac. I told the doctor I'd like to make a big list of every health issue I have, diagnosed and undiagnosed, every theory I've been given or come up with myself, and every medication I've tried and my reactions to it - something I've never done because I knew for a fact no doctor would take me seriously if they saw such a list all at once. He said it was a good idea and could be very helpful.

Female-presenting people are of course not going to be surprised by any of this, but in my experience, male-presenting people often are. When you've never had a doctor scoff at you, laugh at you, literally say "I won't consider that possibility until you've been cleared by a psychologist" for the most mundane of health problems, it might be hard to imagine just how demoralizing it is. How scary it becomes going to the doctor. How you can internalize the idea that you're just imagining things, making a big deal out of nothing.

Now that I'm visibly a man, all of my doctors are suddenly very concerned about the fact that I've been simply living like this for nearly four decades with no help. And I know how many women will have to go their whole lives never getting that help simply because of sexism in the medical field.

If you know a doctor, show them this story. Even if they are female. Even if they consider themselves leftists and feminists and allies. Ask them to really, truly, deep down, consider whether they really treat their male and female patients the same. Suggest that the next time they hear a valid complaint from a male patient, imagine they were a woman and consider whether you'd take it seriously. The next time they hear a frivolous-sounding complaint from a female patient, imagine they were a man and consider whether it would sound more credible.

It's hard to unlearn these biases. But it simply has to be done. I've lived both sides of this issue. And every doctor insists they treat their male and female patients the same. But some of the doctors astonished that I didn't get better care in the past are the same doctors who dismissed me before.

I'm glad I'm getting the care I need, even if it is several decades late. And I'm angry that it took so long. And I'm furious that most female-presenting people will never have this chance.

#transgender #queer #transmasc #lgbtqia+#trans man #sexism #medical sexism #feminism #male privilege

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yuwuta · 6 months

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VITAMIN ME — JUJUTSU KAISEN BOYS + SICK FIC

featuring. gojo, toji, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu, itadori, choso, fushiguro

content. taking care of the boys/the boys taking care of you when feeling sick, all fluff, no warnings

word count. 2.5k

SATORU GOJO

He doesn’t feel under the weather often, but when he does, it hits him tenfold. He’s whiny, dramatic, borderline inconsolable, and feels well within his rights to demand your undivided attention, because he’s not usually like this… sick, that is (he is usually whiny and dramatic, no illness in the world could take that away from him).

You and him both know when he’s dragging it, but you can’t help but to feel bad for him. Because when Satoru is sick, he’s sick—you feel like you need to constantly monitor all his vitals, set a timer to make sure he gets medication because he’s so cold and pale and sluggish, it’s worrisome. Of course, he finds the strength to tease you, “You worried about little old me, sweets? Don’t be—‘m gonna be fine, you know. But I hear kisses cure the flu.”

“Not scientifically proven, or peer reviewed,” you tell him, “But you know what is? Tylenol. Time for more, open up, Satoru.”

“Will I get a kiss? Just a little one?”

He gives you a hard time, even in sickness, but it’s only because he absolutely relishes being in your care, thinks you’re good at taking care of him; proven by the way you give in with a nod, and then a kiss after he takes his medication. He really does feel like shit right now, but with you here, caring for him, his heart has expanded ten times and a warmth spills into his chest that makes the pain insignificant. Satoru feels honored and humbled to have someone fuss over him like this—to have this concrete reminder that you worry for him and care about him and love him just like he loves you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“You gonna feed me?” Toji grumbles, sounding much less threatening with a frog in his throat, “Because there’s no way I’m drinking that.”

You roll your eyes, lightly tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug before placing it onto the coffee table and extending your arms towards Toji, “The ginger is good for you. The lemon, too, if you wanna stop sounding like a low-budget villain anytime soon.”

Toji’s nose scrunches—it’s almost cute, if it weren’t followed by an infuriatingly stubborn turn of his jaw, pointedly away from you and back to the television. You huff, sitting down next to him—or as close as you can get through his mountain of blankets and forcefield of pillows—carefully nursing the cup in your palms.

Who would have thought that the great Toji Fushiguro would be so stubborn as to let a little cold get the best of him. Him attempting to suffer without cold medicine wasn’t that surprising, but you didn’t think that he’d petulantly refuse tea just because of some ginger. Getting him to take his antibiotics only worked when you told him you’d boot him onto the couch if he didn’t, but that won’t work this time, he’ll call your bluff.

You sigh, moving a pillow to your other side and reaching over to the coffee table to redeem your spoon. You fold one leg under the other and turn your body to Toji’s, scooping tea into the spoon, giving it a soft blow, and then raising it to his face. He quirks an eyebrow when he feels the steam brushing against his skin, and turns to you with a hellish grin.

He opens his mouth, to say something slick no doubt, but you take advantage of the opportunity to shove the spoon in his mouth, “You don’t get to talk until after you finish your tea.”

TOGE INUMAKI

Despite being a renowned insomniac and someone who is willing to throw away hours of sleep to binge watch his favorite series or complete a new game, Toge does believe that rest is the best medicine. He does take his own sleep seriously—it’s not his fault that most people consider his preferred sleeping hours to be regular waking hours.

So, even though it sounds a bit hypocritical, Toge is very firm about you resting as much as you can when you’re not feeling well. He’s quick to make a cocoon out of you in your two favorite blankets and fit you onto the couch to keep you within sight as he rummages around the kitchen to prepare your meals, and make sure that you don’t skimp out on your medication. He’s got some pretty effective homemade remedies for a killer sore throat, but cough syrup is cough syrup—he knows it tastes horrible, but if he has to force feed it to you, then so be it.

He feeds you spoonfuls of homemade broth and rice to make up for it, giggling as you scrunch your nose from the taste of the medicine. When you’re finished, he lets you tell him off and forgoes teasing you about how nasally you sound as he coerces you to lay down again. You don’t feel sleepy, but when Toge’s lips brush against your forehead, his words are like a spell that makes your eyes flutter shut, “Sleep, my love.”

KENTO NANAMI

“It’s cold, Ken,” you whine, sniffling at the end of your sentence. Kento sighs softly, switching off the light to the bathroom and taking careful strides to the bed. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed, expression sympathetic as you complain about the temperature again.

The room is actually slightly warmer than normal per your earlier request, but he knows you still feel cold because of how high your temperature is. It's exactly why he took your blanket from you—fuzzy, and warm, and weighted would all be enticing and acceptable if you weren’t running a very concerning fever. Kento absolutely hates to say no to you, but he has to do something to break your fever.

“I know, darling,” he nods gently, settling himself onto his side of the bed. He’d prefer to have the comfort of a heavy blanket right now, too, but he wouldn’t taunt you like that—if you have to sleep without one, then so will he. He should get you another cold towel for your forehead, but you tug on his heartstrings when you scoot yourself closer to him, nose nudging against his thigh. He smiles softly, carefully reaching to tap at your arms, “Come here.”

You shuffle upwards and into his arms, cheek pressed against his chest with your arms coming to wrap around his torso. Kento lets you melt into him and wraps strong arms around your body to keep you close—body heat will have to do for now.

YUUTA OKKOTSU

Yuuta walks—waddles, really—with his blanket over his shoulders, mouth slightly ajar, and a box of tissue in his hand for good measure. He looks cute despite his febrile state, with his nose red and eyes wide and you have to resist the urge to coo at him.

“I thought the Benadryl would have kept you asleep at least a little longer,” you smile, turning off the heat underneath the pot.

“Something smelled good... and I got hungry,” Yuuta shrugs weakly, taking the remaining steps into the kitchen and plopping his body weight onto a stool at the island. He sniffles deeply, setting his box of tissues down on the counter, before pointing at the lowly simmering pot behind you, “Is that… for me?”

“No, it’s for my other sick boyfriend,” you grin, reaching into a nearby cabinet for a bowl. You giggle when you see Yuuta’s pouty expression, cheeks a light pink and bottom lip jutted slightly.

“It’s not nice to make fun of the ill,” he coughs. His façade is waning, already weakened by his sick state, and crumbling when you push a warm bowl of his favorite soup in front of him. You can’t help but to laugh a little louder because Yuuta’s eyes practically grow three sizes and you swear he’s salivating a little.

He shakes away the shock, turning with a pout when he realizes you’re poking fun at him again, “You’re doing it again. Now you owe me a kiss.”

“Do I?” you tease, taking the seat on the stool next to him, elbows resting on the counter, as you peer up at Yuuta’s flushed face. You’ll let him ride the excuse his blush being the fever for a little longer, “That’s risky. I might get sick, and I have a very cute boyfriend to take care of.”

“I’ll take care of you, too,” Yuuta all but whispers, tired eyes fluttering to your lips, “In sickness and in health, right?”

He leans down a bit and you meet him for a quick kiss, pulling away to smile, “I thought that was for married couples.”

“I’ll fix that soon,” Yuuta smiles, satisfied. You giggle, reaching out to poke his red nose and then his cheek to turn his face back to his soup.

“Well, then go ahead and eat and get well soon,” you muse, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, “I expect a very romantic proposal from an un-sick lover boy.”

YUUJI ITADORI

You should have known that Nobara was going to rat you out sooner or later, if not for your own wellbeing, then for hers—because despite your roommate being a caring soul beneath her tough exterior, she is not caring enough to risk her own health because you’re sniffling all over your shared apartment; especially not before she’s supposed to go on her first vacation with her boyfriend.

On the third day of coughing, Nobara tells you she’s going to camp out with Megumi until her flight, and that Yuuji is the person she’s entrusted with her keys until she returns back from her trip. So, it’s not a surprise that a mere hour later, you find Yuuji all but barreling through your front door with grocery bags in hand, all of which he promptly drops when he hears you hacking out your lungs on the couch, quick to dart to your side and hold your cup as you shakily drink some water.

“Babe! You’re, like, super sick,” he exclaims, now sitting criss-cross on your living room floor, slowly unpacking the grocery bags for a real-time haul, “You should have told me earlier, I could have gotten you all this stuff way sooner!”

“I’m fine, Yuuji. It’s a mild cold at most,” you reassure him, smiling to yourself as he rips open a new box of Kleenex and thrusts it in your direction. He looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, untrusting of your words, before he springs up with the last grocery bag in hand.

“Well, still... I’m not a doctor, but I got all the medications Nanamin told me to get, so we’re gonna get this cold out of you in no time,” he grins, patting your head before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “In the meantime, how about some soup? Oh—I just saw a recipe for something spicy, that should help with your nose right? Or maybe ramen? Leave it to me!”

CHOSO KAMO

You couldn’t help but to snap one more picture of Choso. You felt bad, a little bit, he was tired and sick and probably felt like crap, but he looked very cute when he was sleepy, cuddled up in fuzzy blankets from head to toe, with just enough space to expose his tired eyes and red nose. One more wouldn’t hurt.

You smile to yourself as you look back at him, slipping your phone into your pocket and walking over to join Choso on the couch. There’s not enough room for you to sit in the seat, so you have to cotch yourself in the arm of the couch closest to his head and gently reach out to move a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. It would make for another cute picture, but you refrain, choosing to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead instead, before standing to start picking up the spare tissue and cough drop wrappers littered around him.

You always tell him he’s going to worry himself sick, and he’s managed to do just that. It was a little fun, a little cute, but mostly, you’re just happy that Choso is resting. You know that sleep doesn’t come easily to him under normal circumstances; if being a little under the weather is what gets your boyfriend to slow down and care for his body, then so be it; you’ll be there to help him out.

You’re about to head into the kitchen, when you’re stopped by a warm hand brushing against your leg. You turn to see Choso limply reaching out of your, slowly blinking awake, before weakly beckoning for you again, “Stay here,” he croaks, “Please?”

You smile, placing the gathered trash onto the coffee table, before burying yourself within Choso’s blankets. You have to do a little wiggling to get underneath him, but Choso doesn’t mind, happily resting his weight against you, eyes already fluttering closed again, not before he lets you a meek, “Thank you. I love you.”

You give him one final kiss to the crown of his head, “I love you, too.”

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

“Megumi, are you… okay?” you question softly, leaning over the small restaurant table to squint at your boyfriend. You’d been watching him carefully since he’d picked you up from your house, deducing that something was definitely wrong, even if Megumi had been trying his best to hide it.

He could be quiet, but he was definitely not soft spoken, nor did he normally wince after swallowing a bite of his food. You should have known something was off from the start, when you’d held hands on your walk and Megumi’s fingers were warm, and not icicles attached to his palm.

Megumi freezes, mouth gaping slightly, before he closes it and composes himself with slumped shoulders—he’d considered keeping up his brave front, but it’d be futile at this point, so he sighs, “My throat hurts, is all,” he confesses, the hoarseness of his tired voice peeking through, “I had a fever yesterday, but it was fine this morning.”

You lean over a little more, just enough to be able to extend your hand so that the back of your palm meets Megumi’s forehead. It’s warm, to no surprise, and you find yourself tutting, recoiling your hand slightly, with enough space to flick him.

“Ow?” He groans, and you only roll your eyes. You pull back to fish through your bag, to pull out some cash and leave it on the table. Megumi begins to question you, but you’re not hearing it, getting up to sling your purse over your shoulder and grab your boyfriend by the forearm.

“You’re an idiot,” you scold, ushering him out of the restaurant, “We are going to urgent care to get you a strep test, and then to that bakery Nanami tells us not to tell anyone about to get you soup, and then you are going to sit and eat it and contemplate your actions for the rest of the evening.”

Megumi lets himself be dragged away—another tell-tale sign that he really is feeling under the weather (which is also what he chooses to blame his blush on). If “contemplating his actions,” was code word for you hovering over him for a bit, then maybe he wouldn’t mind.

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pucksandpower · 8 months

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hiii! with the chaos that was today’s career, could I request one with driver reader that she started telling her team that she wasn’t feeling good but still wanted to continue but the next moment she isn’t answering her radio because she fainted in the car and the car goes out, the marshals take her out of the car and she doesn’t wake up, maybe she has extreme dehydration and is hot to touch, etc.

How the other drivers react when they found out, her team, etc.

Thank you

Too Hot To Handle

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the Qatar Grand Prix pushed every driver to the limit … and some past the limit

Warnings: heat stroke, dehydration, crash, medical conditions

The Lusail International Circuit hums with electric anticipation, its asphalt ribbon shimmering under the floodlights. The roar of the crowd fills the night but the oppressive heat weighs on everyone, creating a contrasting atmosphere of excitement and cautious apprehension.

Standing alongside your Red Bull Racing car, you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow. In only your first year with the reigning double champions, you already have a record that has quickly become the talk of the paddock. But for all the praise and whispers, there is one voice that stands out.

“Remember, liefje, it’s not just about speed tonight. Keep hydrated, alright?” Max’s voice is full of warmth and concern. His hand rests gently on your arm.

You flash him a confident smile even though you’re battling your nerves internally. “I’ve raced in heat before, Maxie. I won in Singapore. I’ll be fine.”

He pulls you into a quick embrace, the temperature doing little to dampen the spark between you. “It’s different here. This heat ... it’s like nothing I’ve ever raced in before.”

Pulling back, you raise an eyebrow teasingly. “You worried about me, Verstappen?”

He laughs but there’s a hint of steely seriousness in his blue eyes. “Always. Just ... promise me you’ll be careful out there. For both our sakes.”

You nod, touching your helmet to his. “Promise.”

The intercom in your ear crackles to life. “Drivers, to your cars!”

You both exchange a final glance. Racing is in your blood, it’s what brought you together, but it also keeps you apart, if only for the few hours you’re no longer partners in life but competitors on track.

Sliding into your car, you secure your helmet and gloves. The world outside becomes a bit muffled but your focus sharpens. The engine’s purr is a familiar comfort, but tonight, it’s edged with the unease Max’s words left behind.

Your race engineer, Hugh Bird, checks in over the radio, “Everything good, Y/N?”

You take a deep breath, “As good as it’ll ever be. Let’s light up this track.”

“Give them a show.”

Lights out and away we go.

***

The Qatar Grand Prix unfolds with its usual mix of intensity and skill, drivers navigating tight turns and overtaking with precision. But beneath the spectacle, a subtle tension mounts. The oppressive heat, the stark floodlights, and the weight of expectation — all of it seems to be building to something.

In the garage and on the pit wall, your team closely monitors the race and your performance. Hugh occasionally chimes in with updates, “You’re doing great, Y/N. Remember to hydrate whenever you need to.”

You nod even though he can’t see it, “Understood. The heat’s something else in here.”

A pause. Then, “Just keep stead. And Max told GP to tell me to tell you to remember what he said.”

A smile touches your lips, “I always do.”

***

The track is a blur as you push your car to its limits, feeling the adrenaline surge in tandem with the roar of the engines. It’s as if the heat has seeped into your very core, burning with intensity. Each lap feels slightly longer, every turn a tad sharper, as the humid air takes its toll.

“Y/N,” Hugh radioes through, sounding distant and slightly distorted by the pounding in your head, “you’re P2. Great pace. Remember to sip some water.”

A trickle of sweat runs down the side of your face, stinging your eye. Blinking rapidly, you reach for the button that activates your hydration system.

“Got it,” your voice sounds foreign even to your own ears. The water is lukewarm and tastes metallic, not as refreshing as you had hoped.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he urges.

With every lap, the world outside your visor seems to grow brighter, the floodlights shimmering like mirages in a desert. The race has become a battle, not just against other drivers but against the environment and, increasingly, against yourself.

“You’re dropping pace. Is everything alright?” Hugh’s concerned voice crackles through.

A knot tightens in your stomach. “I don’t know. I ...” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as a wave of overwhelming dizziness hits.

You can hear the alarm in your engineer’s voice becoming more pronounced. “Y/N, talk to me. Do we need to pit?”

The heat wraps around you, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. Your hands, slick with sweat, struggle to grip the wheel even through your gloves. “Guys ... I don’t ... feel ...” The world spins and your words falters.

“Y/N? Y/N, talk to me!”

But before you can respond, before you can even finish your sentence, the world tilts and blurs into an incomprehensible whirlwind. The sweltering heat, the relentless pursuit of victory, and the weight of expectation converge into a maelstrom that engulfs you entirely.

Your hands, once deftly steering the RB19, now hang limply by your sides. The car veers off the track, careening towards the barriers. Panic rises in you but it’s too late. Your body refuses to act.

The deafening sound of metal against metal fills your ears, followed by the nauseating sensation of impact. The world outside your cockpit twists and spins, a kaleidoscope of colors and chaos. Then, abruptly, it all goes dark.

In the garage, your team watches in horror as the monitors show the violent crash. The radio falls silent, the connection severed. In that heartbeat, the world goes eerily quiet, punctuated only by the distant echoes of screeching tires and the blaring alarms.

Moments pass like hours and finally the static on the radio clears, replaced by your frantic race engineer, “—please respond. Y/N? Are you okay?”

But there’s no response. Your world remains shrouded in darkness as the circuit comes to a standstill, gripped by an eerie silence that drowns out even the most deafening of cheers.

The track is plunged into chaos. Red flags wave fervently, signaling danger. Marshals rush towards your wrecked car, their fluorescent jackets contrasting brightly against the night.

“Get her out! Get her out!” One of the marshals shouts as they reach your car. Your limp form is carefully extracted and they begin immediate first aid. The severity of the situation is clear — the heat, the dehydration, it’s all taken its toll.

The crowd watches, a collective gasp filling the air soon replaced by a thick, heavy silence. As your unconscious form is stretchered away, the weight of all those warnings crashes down.

Back on the pit wall, four words whispered into the radio are the first of many about to turn your boyfriend’s world upside down.

“Safety car, safety car.”

***

“Max, we’re pitting this lap. Box, box,” the calm, steady voice of Gianpiero Lambiase, Max’s race engineer, instructs over the radio.

Max’s voice is curt, his mind still on the race. “Why? Tires feel fine.”

“Non-negotiable. Safety car is out. We need you to pit now.”

The urgency in GP’s voice is not lost on Max and he immediately senses that something is wrong. “What happened? Why is there a safety car?”

Silence follows for a heartbeat too long. “There was an incident. Just focus on your race.”

An icy dread seeps into Max’s bones. The circuit is massive yet his world feels terribly small at this moment. “Who was it? Who crashed?”

His engineer hesitates, and in that pause, the weight of a thousand possibilities presses on Max.

“Who. Was. It?”

GP wavers, “It’s … Y/N.”

Max’s breathing becomes ragged. Panic and fear flood his system. “Why the hell wasn’t I told immediately?”

“It was team orders. The decision was made to keep you focused on the race.”

Max laughs but it lacks any humor. “Team orders? You’re saying Christian decided not to tell me that Y/N ... my Y/N is hurt?”

“Yes,” the reply is uncharacteristically soft, “It was believed to be in everyone’s best interest for you to be fully focused on the race.”

Max has never felt such white-hot rage. He spits into the radio, seething with fury and pain. “You tell Christian that if he ever makes a decision like that again about someone I love, I’ll cut his balls off with a rusty spoon.”

“Max, I understand you’re upset. But right now, we need you to stay focused.”

Stay focused? When the love of his life is in potential danger? The weight of what that means presses down, threatening to crush him. “I need to see her,” he finally rasps out, voice breaking.

The plea hangs in the air, met by another long silence. Finally, the radio clicks on again, softer than ever. “Y/N would want you to finish. You know that. Win this for her.”

Tears blur Max’s vision, mixing with the sweat already pooling in his helmet, but he nods, a silent assent. The roaring engine now sounds distant, the glinting lights a backdrop to the storm that rages within him. Every second is an eternity, every turn a test of his resolve to keep racing. But Max drives on, pushing his limits for you.

Every fiber of his being silently screams your name, a prayer or a promise or both, Max doesn’t know. All he knows is that the faster he crosses the finish line, the sooner he can be with you.

For the world watching, the race continues, cars whizzing by. But for Max Verstappen, each lap, each second, is a race against his own heart, torn between duty and desperate love.

***

“Her pulse is erratic! Get the defibrillator ready!” A medic shouts as the emergency team frantically works around you, the ambulance parked haphazardly nearby.

Another voice, calmer but filled with urgency, counters, “Wait, give her a moment. She might come around.”

“Come on, Y/N,” A young medic mutters, pressing an oxygen mask to your face. “Don’t do this.”

The ambulance door opens again, the head medic speaking into a radio, “We need an airlift, now. The situation’s deteriorating rapidly.”

Another voice, muffled, replies, “The helicopter’s on its way! Clear the area.”

As the medics continue to administer aid, working desperately to stabilize you, the chief medic tries to maintain order, “Every second counts. This heat stroke is severe, coupled with dehydration ... it’s a nightmare scenario.”

“We should have had more cooling stations,” the younger medic mutters. “The humidity coupled with the heat ... it’s brutal tonight. And we’re not even the ones out there driving.”

The older medic takes a deep breath. “That is on the organizations. We can’t fix there mistakes but we can focus on what happening now and do everything we can to get her through this.”

The thrum of helicopter blades soon overwhelms the noise of the circuit, growing louder as it approaches. Soon, the bright light from its landing spotlight punctuates the night. “The helicopter’s here!” Someone shouts.

“Alright, team, on three,” the chief medic commands. They work in perfect sync, lifting you carefully but quickly, your body still unresponsive.

As they approach the helicopter, the pilot shouts over the roar, “We’ve got the best onboard. She’s in good hands.”

“She’s one of our best,” the younger medic shouts back. “She has to be okay.”

The chief medic, securing you inside, murmurs more to himself than anyone else, “Come on, Y/N. The race isn’t over. Keep fighting.”

***

“You expect me to smile and stand on that podium knowing she’s been airlifted to a hospital?” Max’s voice trembles with rage as he confronts the FIA officials blocking his way.

“Mr. Verstappen, there are rules, procedures,” an official replies stiffly.

“Rules? Y/N might be fighting for her life right now and you want to talk to me about rules?” Max’s hands clench and unclench as he physically holds himself back from throwing a punch.

Another official steps forward, trying to mediate, “Max, we understand your feelings but millions of viewers are watching. The podium is an essential part of the race.”

Max’s eyes flash with anger. “You think I care about a trophy when my girlfriend is in a hospital? Do you really think that piece of metal means anything to me right now?”

“We sympathize— ” the first official begins but is cut off by Max’s heated response.

“You sympathize? Do you even know what that word means?” He’s on the verge of breaking, voice barely above a whisper as he continues, “She is everything to me. Everything. And you want me to smile and wave for the cameras?”

The air grows thick with tension. The two drivers from McLaren waiting for their cue to go to the podium are silent, their eyes darting between Max and the officials.

A new voice interjects , “Let him go.”

It’s Lewis Hamilton, who despite DNFing early in the race, made his way across the paddock after seeing the distress on his rival’s face. “There are things more important than a ceremony.”

The officials exchange glances, clearly not expecting this intervention. But before they can reply, Max levels them with a final scathing look. “Fine me if you must! Penalize me! Suspend me for all I care! But I am going to her.”

And off he goes.

***

A nurse at the desk recognizes Max immediately when he runs into the hospital. “Mr. Verstappen,” she begins hesitantly, “Miss Y/L/N is in the ICU. Room 302.”

He doesn’t need any further prompting to sprint down the hall. Reaching the room, he stops dead in his tracks. You’re there, surrounded by machines that beep and whirr, tubes running to and from you, an oxygen mask on your face. The sight of you, once so full of life, now frail and vulnerable, breaks him.

His voice, when he finally managed to finds it, is a choked whisper, “Y/N ...”

Approaching the bedside, Max gently takes your hand, feeling its clamminess. “Hey, liefje ... it’s me,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. His tears fall freely, wetting the back of your hand.

“Come on, love,” his voice cracks as he continues, “You’ve got to pull through this. For us.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tracing the familiar curves and lines he’s come to adore. “Remember that time in Monaco? When we snuck out for that secret dinner that our trainers would have killed us for? We promised each other forever that night. You can’t leave me now. Not when we’ve got so many more memories left to make.”

The room’s silence is punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in a cruel reminder of the fragility of the moment.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs. “Please ... please come back to me.”

Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours, allowing the weight of his anguish, love, and hope to flow between the two of you in the sterile room.

***

Nothing has changed. The steady beep of the heart monitor still punctuates the silence of the hospital room. Max sits vigilantly at your bedside, his hand gently clasping yours.

It’s been three days since the crash and you still have not woken up. The doctors say your condition is stable but uncertain.

Max leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Morning, liefje. I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle as if you might break. In the stark hospital lighting, the dark circles under his eyes are visible. Sleep hasn’t come easy to him, not with you lying here.

A soft knock at the door draws Max’s attention. Hugh pokes his head in hesitantly. “Hey, Max. Any change?”

Max shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Nothing yet. But she’s fighting. I know she is.”

Your race engineer steps further into the room, his expression solemn. “I should have seen the signs earlier. Pushed her to hydrate more. Slowed her pace.” His voice catches, “It was my job to look out for her.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Max says firmly. “Y/N is stubborn. We both know that. She wanted to prove herself.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “It’s what makes her brilliant.”

Hugh pulls up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. For a moment, the two men sit in pensive silence. Then your race engineer speaks again, softer this time. “Has she ... has she responded at all? Squeezed your hand or anything?”

Max clenches his jaw and stares past Hugh at the blank wall. “No. Nothing yet. But I know she can hear me. I tell her about training, the team ... I update her on everything. She’ll want to jump right back in when she wakes up.”

Footsteps approach and a nurse enters, checking the equipment and your vitals. After making some notes on a chart, she offers an encouraging smile. “No change but she seems stable. Just keep talking to her. Familiar voices help.”

After she departs, Hugh leans forward, clasping your still hand. “Hear that, Y/N? You’ve got to wake up. The team needs you. Your fans are all rooting for you. And ...” His voice cracks. “I need my driver back.”

Max looks at him gratefully. “We all need her back.” Reaching out, he gives your race engineer’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Another knock sounds. This time, it’s Christian. His face is etched with guilt and worry. “Max. Any improvement today?”

Max’s expression hardens. He hasn’t forgotten Christian’s decision to withhold news of your crash. But his voice remains even as he responds to the team principal. “Nothing new.”

Christian pulls up a chair next to Hugh. He chooses his next words carefully. “Max, I need to apologize. I made the wrong call that night. You deserved to know immediately about Y/N. My priorities were skewed.” His voice shakes slightly. “Seeing her like this ... I would give anything to go back and change what I did.”

Max studies him for a long moment and some of the hardness leaves his eyes. “I appreciate that. But right now, the past doesn’t matter. All that matters is her getting better.”

Christian nods. Reaching out, he gently smoothes your hair. “You hear that, Y/N? We’re all here for you. Your whole team. Now you need to come back to us.”

A heavy silence settles on the room once more. The three of them remain clustered around the bed … keeping vigil … willing you to show any small sign of recovery.

After some time passes, the ringing of Hugh’s phone snaps the three men out of their thoughts. “Sorry to interrupt,” your press officer’s voice filters through the speaker, “but the team’s on the line. They want to send their well wishes to Y/N.”

Hugh glances at Max questioningly who nods, “Patch them through. Let the whole team remind her why she needs to wake up.”

A smile tugs at your race engineer’s lips. “You got it. Go ahead, team. She can hear you.”

A chorus of voices floods the room. Your mechanics, pit crew, strategists, PR team … everyone chimes in with encouraging messages.

“Come on, Y/N! We need our star girl back on the grid.”

“You can do this, kid. You’re the toughest one out there!”

“We all believe in you. Keep fighting!”

Max grips your hand tighter, emotions threatening to spill over. Even Christian and Hugh have sheens of tears in their eyes.

“Alright,” your race engineer says after the team signs off. “You heard them. Time to wake up.”

And that’s when Max feels it. A short, weak squeeze of his hand.

Then your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Y/N?” Max leaps to his feet, leaning over you anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, painfully, your eyes open, taking in the scene around you. Confusion clouds your expression. “M-Max?” You rasp.

A brilliant smile breaks across Max’s face. Relief floods through him so powerful that his knees nearly buckle as he chokes out, “Yes, yes it’s me! You’re back, liefje. You’re really back.”

Hugh lets out a shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Welcome back, superstar.”

You try to speak again but Max hushes you gently. “Save your strength. We’ve got all the time in the world to talk.”

Christian grins, looking years younger. “Oh thank god. I need to tell the team. They’ll be thrilled. Welcome back, Y/N.” He hurries from the room, phone already in hand.

Your race engineer squeezes your shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

As he and the nurse move discreetly out of the room, you gaze up at Max. “You ... you stayed.”

Max lifts your hand to his lips, blinking back tears. “Of course I stayed. I’ll always stay by your side.”

He leans down, pressing his lips against your chapped ones. All the fear, the uncertainty, the heartache of the past few days melts away.

You’re back. You’re really back. And Max knows, without a shred of doubt, that your lives from this day on will be greater and more meaningful than all your wildest dreams.

***

In the following days, drivers from across the grid make the pilgrimage to your hospital room. They come bearing gifts — flowers, balloons, even a nearly life-size plush race car. But more importantly, they come bearing a message.

“That race should never have happened,” Lewis says solemnly, handing you a get-well card covered in signatures. “The heat was dangerous. We should have acted sooner.”

Esteban grips your hand tightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We should have spoken up about the conditions sooner. We all suffered but you suffered most.”

“Your crash woke us all up,” Lance adds. “No trophy is worth risking drivers’ safety even more than we already do each race.”

You’re moved by their solidarity but sigh knowingly. “The FIA would never have listened to just one driver saying something. But maybe they’ll listen to all of us.”

Max’s jaw clenches, residual anger simmering beneath the surface. “They have to listen. We won’t race in unsafe conditions again.”

The other drivers nod, They know the power that you all wield together and for the first time in a long time, you are going to use it.

In a show of outspoken unity, the GPDA drafts a strongly worded letter condemning the lack of caution around extreme heat and demanding tangible changes to make sure drivers aren’t put in avoidable jeopardy.

All twenty of you threaten to strike.

To your surprise, the FIA not only apologizes for the oversight but pledges to implement the requested changes immediately.

“Your crash was a wake-up call,” the FIA president says solemnly during a visit to your hospital room. “We should have protected you better. That will never happen again.”

When he departs, you let out a long breath, leaning back against the pillows. The anger and hurt from that night haven’t disappeared entirely but you feel a sense of hope, that some good has come from the experience.

Max clasps your hand between both of his. “What you went through is unacceptable but you used that to make the sport safer for every driver out there. I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a tired smile. “We did this together. All of us.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. When you’re better, we’ve got plenty more checkered flags to take. Side by side.”

The long road to full recovery still lies ahead. But with Max by your side, and all the drivers behind you, you know everything will be okay.

The race goes on but it will be a safer race thanks to you.

4K notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 7 months

Note

A one shot where Bucky doesn’t like the reader and makes her life at the compound a little rough? Like enemies (maybe to lover or friends?) and she is like the sunshine personality 🥺🥺🥺

I live for this shit This type of angst where he's mean and finds her annoying even though she's a sweetheart, ugh, yes. YES.

Bucky groaned, trying to ignore the shooting pain that seared in his abdomen, clutching an old t-shirt to stop the bleeding from the stab wound he'd received during his latest mission.

"You good there, terminator?" Sam cocked an eyebrow watching Bucky unconvincingly nod, grunting a half assed yes before squeezing his eyes shut and flopping back on the seat.

"You're gonna need stiches" Steve snorted, shaking his head at his stubborn friend.

"I'm fine" Bucky gritted out, preferring to bleed out on the jet instead of going to the med bay where he'd be surrounded by doctors and needles and if he was really unlucky, you.

"Seriously? That's the second shirt you've bled through, I don't think the serum's gonna cut it, punk" Steve sighed, knowing how Bucky felt about getting medical care but it wasn't like he had a choice. As soon as the jet landed, Bucky was shoved in the direction of the medical wing, pouting and grumpy as he limped with Steve supporting him. Bucky frowned when Steve pushed him to lay down on the examination table, grumbling and wincing under his breath.

"You stay here. I'm gonna finish writing up our reports, don't go sneaking off" Steve chuckled, giving his friend's shoulder a squeeze before leaving. The soldier stared up at the florescent lights, his eyes anxiously darting about the room, hoping and praying that at the very least he wouldn't have to deal with-

"Good afternoon Bucky!"

For fucks sake.

Bucky groaned at the chirpy voice that piped up from the door, his brows knotted together from frustration.

He hated it. You'd ask about his day as if he wasn't there go get sewn up. You'd talk to him like you'd known him for years, almost oblivious to the fact that he was a former brain washed assassin. Every time he saw you, you were so giggly and pretty and bouncy and cute and happy and it irked his soul because it was to the point it was unnecessary. I mean you were just so kind and sweet to everyone as if everyone deserved such amazingness from such a wonderful person, okay that's enough Bucky.

The world wasn't fucking sunshine and rainbows and he had no idea why you acted like it was.

"Steve said you needed a few stitches so-

"Where's Dr. Cho" Bucky cut you off, hoping anyone else would help him so he could get on with his day, willing to take the needle and thread himself instead of having you do it while talking his ear off.

"Oh, she's with another patient right now but it's fine, I promise I'll get you out of here soon, do you mind if I remove your vest-

"Yeah, I got it" Bucky huffed, wincing to get his gear off but you stopped him, urging him to stay down.

"No, it's okay, I just wanted to make sure you're okay with it, I'll cut it off, don't worry"

Bucky nodded, lying back down while you grabbed a tray with medical supplied, carefully cutting around the blood soaked material and discarding it. You cleaned the area, mumbling apologies incase the alcohol caused any pain, moving on to closing the cut.

"I heard about the mission you all went on. I can't even imagine going through all that, it sounded terrifying. You're very brave Sargent" You smiled, tossing your gloves aside after patching Bucky up. Bucky grunted as he hopped off the table without a word, ready to whack Steve on the head for telling you of all people he needed help.

"If you need anything else, let me know! Just get some rest for a few days, it'll heal soon-

"I know" Bucky walked out of the room without looking back, his shoulders relaxing when he was far away from he med wing. There was truly no reason for him to be this annoyed but he was tired, in pain and he knew for a fact there would be a pile of papers for him to fill out in the conference room.

You didn't take Bucky's grumpy attitude to heart, understanding the stress that came with going on missions, getting injured every time coupled with the fact that he was probably still healing from his own past. You put away the supplies before taking a coffee break, running into a very excited Tony along the way.

"Hey cupcake, just who I was looking for, do you like chocolate or vanilla"

"Tony, I told you, you don't have to-

"That doesn't answer the question. Pick one or the other or both or another flavor, all the flavours, but give me something"

You giggled at the way he looked at you expectantly, sighing seeing as he wouldn't let up until you answered.

"I'm not picky, you know I'd love anything. Get something everyone would like, seriously, I don't even need all this, I'm just the nurse-

"Stop that right now, there's no one else like you" Tony huffed, planting a quick kiss your head before texting his caterers about everything he wanted, ensuring everything was perfect, especially when it came to you.

You woke up to the sun streaming through the curtains, stretching before getting out of bed and padding over to the bathroom to go through your morning routine. You had the day off, throwing on your joggers instead of your typical scrubs and making your way down to the kitchen, grabbing ingredients for baking.

You hummed, scooping out spoons of cookie batter, plopping it onto the tray and throwing it into the oven, cleaning up the area in between, waiting for the oven timer to go off. You set the chocolate chip cookies onto a tray, piping the last bit of icing onto the top and sweeping away the smidges of frosting that got onto the counter.

Bucky blinked at the smell of baking, making his way to the kitchen for some water after a run. He groaned, nearly walking right back out when he saw you singing to yourself, arranging cookies in a circle, each one decorated for a different person in the tower.

"Good morning Bucky" You smiled while he mumbled, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, "I-I made made cookies for everyone, did you want one?" You asked hopefully, looking at the little dog tags you'd piped on the cookie you made for him while he shrugged in response.

"Why do you keep trying so hard, do you not have any friends?" Bucky scoffed, ignoring the fresh plate of cookies that sat on the counter, not caring that your face had fallen. He wanted to strike a nerve, feeling a sick satisfaction at the way you silenced yourself, giving him the peace and quiet he wanted.

"S-sorry, I just thought-

"You thought what?" Buck cocked an eyebrow, the tick in his jaw making your stomach churn.

"Nothing, sorry" You mumbled, turning back to continue cleaning while he chugged the rest of the bottle. "I've just leave them here if you want one later on-

"No, I don't want one now and I don't think I'll want one later either" Bucky glared at you, tired of you always trying to do things for others as if anyone asked.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't-" you bit your lip hard to keep from crying, not wanting to annoy Bucky more.

"Why do you always act like everything great? Like we don't come back from almost dying, risking our lives while you go about like the world is perfect"

"I just-I didn't mean-

"You didn't mean what, to be annoying? Did anyone even ask for this?" Bucky nodded to the cookies while you shook your head, feeling ridiculous and embarrassed, not realizing others also probably found you annoying.

"I-it was my birthday, I thought-" you sniffled, choking back a whimper, "I wanted to do something nice - never mind" You bit your lip to keep from breaking down, blinking back tears as you scurried off to your room, without looking back.

The initial satisfaction Bucky was short lived as he stood in the now empty kitchen, tossing the bottle aside. The plate caught his eye once more as he walked by, reluctantly stopping to look at each one, your skilled hands decorating each one with clean details. He instantly spotting the one you made for him which had been dusted with silver just like his tags; he had no idea how you managed to get his name and number piped to precisely.

Not that it mattered.

Bucky continued to make his way to the gym, feeling a little bad that he made you cry but he figured you'd get over soon enough, after all that seemed to be your strong suit, you were always happy and smiling anyway.

"You're coming tonight, right?" Steve dropped the weights he was curling while Bucky frowned, unsure of what the captain was referring to.

"Why, what's tonight" Bucky grunted, still in the middle of his set.

"Seriously, Tony told us like a month ago"

"Yeah, fine" Bucky huffed, not really caring what it was about, knowing he'd be dragged to go regardless. He finished the rest of his workout, retreating back to his room to shower. He flopped onto his bed after, grabbing a book from his bedside table seeing as there was still plenty of time till he had to get ready.

The book had been a Christmas present from you and as much as he hated to admit it, it was perfect and one of his favorites. He tried to focus on the words, feeling bad again thinking about how your face had fallen earlier when all you did was offer him a cookie.

Maybe he went a little overboard with his reaction...

Bucky shook the guilt he felt, hoping that you'd be running around somewhere getting ready for whatever tonight was.

"Where's y/n" Sam looked around the room seeing everyone else present but you, the night in full swing seeing as Tony had gone all out as usual "I swear she said she'd be here, this is literally her birthday party"

"I didn't see her" Nat frowned, putting down the drink she was sipping on, scanning the room again, "Now that I think about it, I haven't seen her all day"

Bucky felt a deep pang in his chest when he realized the party was for you, his stomach twisting in knots.

"Where's our birthday girl" Steve asked as he joined the others, the guilt making Bucky feel even more sick. He ran a hand over his face while the others continued to wonder where you were. "I hope she isn't working, she deserves a day off, she already worked over time for 3 months straight when we were running back to back missions"

Bucky remembered that.

They'd all been sent out on missions spread across different months and you'd been the one on call to patch them up the entire time. You hadn't complained once even through you were thoroughly sleep deprived. At the time Bucky was annoyed you were in such an upbeat mood when they were all scraping by but you had been struggling yourself.

"I fucked up" Bucky groaned, feeling awful for how he'd treated you in the morning and for how he'd been acting towards you in general.

"Why, what did you do" Steve's face twisted in confusion while Bucky's face reddened in embarrassment. Steve was aware Bucky complained about you but he figured it was because his bestfriend got flustered around the pretty nurse, he'd seen Bucky get tongue tied plenty of times whenever you walked by.

"You were a grumpy asshole to y/n, weren't you" Sam frowned seeing Bucky's guilty face. The soldier didn't say another word, leaving the group to find you instead, debating on getting Steve to clock him in the jaw first. Bucky ran to the elevator, pushing the button to your floor, hoping he'd see you making your way down, only to find the hallway empty. His heart broke hearing the soft sniffles coming from your room, the door closed. He gently knocked on the door, your cries quieting down as if you'd silenced yourself to pretend you were asleep instead of opening the door.

"Y/n?" Bucky called for you only to be met with more silence, "Can-can you please open the door?" His heart started to beat faster when he head your footsteps approaching the door, clicking the lock open; you were still in your joggers from earlier, your face puffy from crying.

All because of him.

"Sorry, I fell asleep" you lied, keeping your face trained on your feet, worried Bucky had come to yell at you about the party Tony had thrown for you, "and I'm sorry about the party, you didn't have to go if you didn't want to, I promise I didn't tell Tony you had to come, I know you don' like me-

"No, no baby no, stop" Bucky hushed you, his heart breaking when your voice cracked, rambling out apologies. His body moved on its own, wrapping his arms around you while you started to cry again, rocking you while holding you to his chest. "Please don't cry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you have nothing to apologize for doll, nothing at all"

Bucky held you tightly while your body shook, feeling sick with himself for how he'd been treating you. You'd never been anything short of sweet and he'd made a point of always letting you know he couldn't care less. He lifted you in his arms, walking over to your bed, sitting down with you in his lap, ready to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

"I didn't mean to be so annoying" You shrugged, fidgeting with your fingers, the light that always made your eyes twinkle dimmed from Bucky's words.

"Y/n, please, no" Bucky whispered, pleading with you to stop. "Don't doll. It was never ever you, please let me apologize. I've been awful to you, you've done nothing wrong. You've always been an angel, sweets, it's me whose been an annoying asshole. I don't deserve your kindness but that's never stopped you from giving it to me when I least deserved it"

"You deserve kindness Bucky" you gave him a small smile, one that didn't meet your eyes and Bucky felt his eyes sting. Even when he was the one in the wrong, you were still comforting him with your sweetness.

"Y/n, I don't know anyone that deserves the sort of kindness you give. I don't know anyone that would deserve someone as wonderful as you. You're a light for everyone when its dark. I was a fuckin' idiot for everything I've ever said to you. That isn't an excuse for how I've been treating you doll, I know that. It's just- I've been awful to you and you've never done anything wrong. I'm truly sorry sweets"

"Its okay Bucky" You whispered, reaching up to wipe the tear that streaked down his face, your cheeks heating up when you realized you were still in his lap, "S-sorry, I didn't realize-

Bucky shook his head, holding you securely in his lap, not wanting to let you go.

"You have nothing to apologize for, pretty girl" Bucky shrugged, loosening his hold in case you wanted to get off but your doe eyes darted around instead, settling further in his lap. "You really are like sunshine"

"You're very charming, Sargent" you smiled bashfully while Bucky chuckled, his heart beating erratically in his chest when your hands came up to toy with the tags that hung around his neck.

"Would it-would it be if I kissed you?" He whispered shyly, blushing when you nodded, pressing his soft lips to yours. Bucky took his time kissing you, pouring every ounce of his feelings with soft touches, holding onto you like porcelain.

"Everyone's waiting for you sweets" Bucky gave you a gentle squeeze, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes, hoping that you'd still want to go to your own party. "Would you like to go downstairs?"

You slinked off Bucky's lap to get ready, the soldier watching you with heart eyes the entire time you did your hair and makeup. He knew he had a lot to make up for, starting with the fact that he'd never hurt you again. He was still upset with himself for ever hurting you in the first place but he was ready to protect your innocent heart for the rest of his life. His breath hitched in his throat when you finished applying the last of your gloss, blushing when you slipped your hand into his so he could lead you down.

"Theres our cupcake!" Tony grinned when he saw you approaching, the rest of the team cheering making you giggle. Steve smirked seeing Bucky follow closely behind you in protective mode, keeping his hand around your waist. He spent the entire time, doting on you, following you like a lost puppy.

By the end of the night, he had you in his lap again, shamelessly looking at you with heart eyes while the rest of the team watched curiously, his sole focus on you.

"Happy birthday sweet girl" Bucky whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek while you nuzzled into him with a shy smile, "My little sunshine"

Now imagine Bucky doesn't quickly get over the fact that he was a dick. Sure you forgave him because you're an absolute sweetheart but Bucky can't even deal with the way he'd acted, especially when he had a crush on you the entire time and just refused to acknowledge it, acting like a cunt instead.

He's the most lovestuck boyfriend to ever exist. Your office is always full of fresh flowers. He's a clingy little puppy, outside of the medwing until your done, always finding excuses to sneak in and see you. You had to tell him a papercut wasn't a good enough reason for him to request your services.

Neither was a stubbed toe.

The time he nicked himself while shaving was the worst because he was pouty until you kissed him better.

He slips his dog tags around you, his possessive/jealous side occasionally sneaking out.

He doesn't even hide the fact that he's a simp for you, knowing he's the luckiest person on the planet to get the sweetest person in the world. He shows your off like no tomorrow, proud of the angel he gets to call his.

He absolutely loved his sunshine.

3K notes · View notes

shewroteaworld · 8 months

Text

I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't

Premise: Brilliant sunshine!reader gets heat stroke on a case. Your best friend, Spencer Reid, is predictably worried about you. What he doesn't expect is to be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you.

Word count: approx. 3,200

TW: Brief mention of vomit and, perhaps, hospitals

(Y/N/N): Your nickname

Author's Note: Super excited to introduce brilliant sunshine!reader (aka, super smart sunshine!reader) onto my fanfic writing scene! Definitely willing to write more of her in the future if anyone is interested. Hope you enjoy!

“Does anybody have more water?”

“Where is the damn ambulance?”

Perhaps your job classically conditioned you to respond to Hotch’s “I’m seriously not fucking around” tone because your eyes crack open.

Someone put weights on your eyelids and cranked the sun to extra-bright. The harsh rays burned your retinas and washed everything in a white blur. Did someone set off a flash bang?

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” Miraculously, out of the screeching white, you made out JJ’s halo of blonde hair.

“JJ?” You groaned. Even though you could barely see, it felt like the whole world was spinning,

“Hotch, she’s coming around!” You recognized Morgan’s voice. “Welcome back to the world of the living, honey. We’re happy to see you.”

Your heart rate spiked. You never died. Did you die?

“Yes, we still need a medic!” Hotch barked.

You winced. “Wha?” Suddenly, your mouth couldn’t handle a one-syllable world. Even more alarming, your brain, the same brain that kept up with Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid, couldn’t understand what the hell was going on.

“What I do?” You whined.

“He’s not yelling at you, honey,” JJ said like a kindergarten teacher. “You’re just a little out of it right now.”

“Is she conscious?” Another voice entered. Your head spun. “I brought more water.”

You moaned to suppress a gag. Your eyelids drooped, and you relished in the break from the light.

“Hey, smarty pants, stay with us.” Morgan pat your cheek. “Let Emily get some water in you.” You couldn’t force your eyes open more if you tried.

Your friend Emily. That’s who the voice belonged to.

Suddenly, JJ pulled your hair from your face, Morgan lifted your head, and Emily forced a water bottle to your lips simultaneously. The blinding glare seared your eyes and your head spun. You wanted to sob and maybe vomit.

Your chest hitched with a shallow inhale. “Stop.” You whined.

“(Y/N), it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” JJ said.

“No!” You exclaimed.

“Honey–” Morgan tried.

You thrashed against his hold, but your exhausted muscles couldn’t throw Morgan’s gentlest grip.

“Maybe we should let her go.” Emily said.

“She needs water.” JJ countered.

“She’s disoriented.” Hotch cut in. “Let her get her bearings first, but don’t let her close her eyes.”

Gingerly, Morgan lay your body back on the grass. Your head swam, and your vision rippled as if you could see the heat waves in the California air. You tried to take a deep breath but choked.

You sputtered. Every inhale led to a series of dry coughs. In your delirium, you thought of Spencer. Your Spencer. Where the hell was he? Did he not love you anymore?

Suddenly, Hotch loomed over you. His tall frame blocked out the brutality of the sun’s glare, which eased your headache and nausea but not your cough. His eyebrows were so deeply furrowed they formed a trench of wrinkles across his forehead. “Check her airway.”

Suddenly, you stared into JJ’s blue eyes. Other hands tried to manipulate your body. You jerked.

“(Y/N), relax.”

“Honey, please–”

“Turn her on her side!” Morgan’s cut off by Reid, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard.

***

Spencer Reid has survived many traumatic situations.

He's cared for his schizophrenic mother. He’s been kidnapped. He recovered from a drug addiction. And those are just a few items from his dissertation-length “PTSD-Causing Experiences” list.

But many of his worst traumas were a by-product of being a profiler– a job which allowed him to utilize his intellect to help others. He was willing to accrue trauma like Pokemon cards in exchange for applying his genetic gifts to create a safer world.

Reid could have framed your heat exhaustion as another scare in the line of duty. But when Reid saw you, his brilliant girl, on the ground, his heart fell through his feet.

Then, he saw how his the team responded to your medical emergency.

When he witnessed you coughing and writhing on your back as the team leered over with water, he thought he might explode.

You could be asphyxiating, and the team could be letting you choke while forcing more fluid down your throat.

He shivered as he sprinted down the steps of the local precinct and onto the grassy field where you lay.

“Turn her on her side!” He yelled as diagnoses and courses of action fled through his mind on hyperspeed.

“We’re trying, she—”

“Spence?” You choked out through a coughing fit. He’s surprised his ears caught it.

Reid knelt next to you. “Let’s get you into recovery position.” He said, his voice suddenly soft as clouds. Reid gingerly pushed you onto your left side. “Off your back, there we go.” He bent your right leg and slid it in front of your body to prevent you from rolling onto your stomach if you lost consciousness.

“Did she faint?” Reid asked the team. He couldn’t take his eyes from your face.

“We think so. She was dizzy, so she laid on the ground. Then she was unresponsive for at least 40 seconds,” Emily said.

Spencer pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Predictably, you were feverishly hot. “She’s burning up. Has someone called an ambulance?”

“Allegedly.” Hotch said, an edge to his voice.

“We have, sir. They’re on their way.” A local police officer responded, exasperated.

Spencer’s eye twitched. “How long has she been down?” You whined, and he stroked your cheekbone with his thumb.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He whispered.

“In total, 15 minutes.” Hotch supplied. “Emily, pour some more water on her.”

“This was for her to drink.”

“Use one bottle to pour on her face and neck.” Spencer said. “I ran and got Gatorade. She should start with sips of that when she can swallow. Heat stroke can also be caused by salt depletion.”

Spencer was conversing with a local officer over the safety protocols in the area when a pair of policemen walked into the precinct, gossiping about the FBI agent who “folded fast in the southern Cali heat.”

Spencer’s jaw had clenched. Maybe one of his team members was ill since they put in most of the grunt work to catch the unsub. He would’ve been more annoyed if not for the worry gnawing at his brain. What if they were talking about (Y/N)? She looked a little shaky right after her chase with the unsub, but Spencer didn’t get a chance to ask his friend if she was alright. And, stupidly enough, he forgot to text her to check if she drank any water post-case. Quickly, Reid excused himself, grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge, and rushed to the field where your limp body trembled on the grass.

“I’m going to pour some water on you, honey," Emily said. You flinched as the frigid water hit your hairline.

“Breathe, relax.” Spencer said, shielding your nose. The last thing you needed was some accidental waterboarding.

Seconds after the water drenched your forehead, your whole body relaxed into the grass. “That felt good.” You smiled weakly.

Spencer stroked your arm. “Let’s sit you up in a minute, okay? You should try some Gatorade before the EMTs get here.”

“EMTs? I’m fine.” You whined.

Spencer didn’t think it was possible for his eyebrows to crease further.

“You’re not fine.” Gentler, he said, “and it’s okay not to be fine, sunlight.”

“But, I’m alive.” You tried to roll onto your stomach, but your bent leg kept you safe on your back.

Some on the team members chuckled, but Spencer didn’t find your delirium humorous. “I know you’re alive, sweetie. But you’re way too hot. I think you’re a little confused right now.”

“I’m just…” You winced. “I’m alive.”

The knot in Spencer’s chest tightened ten-fold. This could be heat stroke. At the very least, you had heat exhaustion. You were dehydrated. You were delirious.

Best case scenario: you were ill for a few days. Worst case scenario: You had vital organ damage.

Just as he’s about to call 911 himself, JJ interrupted him. “Look–ambulance lights. Help is on the way, honey.”

“You hear that, (Y/N)? You’re gonna be fine.” Morgan said. If only Spencer felt that confident.

“Spence…” You blocked your eyes from the light with your limp right hand. “I’m scared. I don’t feel well.”

“Oh, (Y/N), I know.” He cupped your shoulder and hoped you could feel his love for you through his palm. That sent a jolt down his spine. He wasn’t supposed to comfortably think those thoughts about you.

You were sick. This wasn’t the time. He leaned over your body. He gave you plenty of breathing room, but his torso was parallel to your hip so his eyes could meet your watering ones. “Hey, take a breath for me, Smartie.”

Your nickname for him slipped from his tongue so easily it spooked him. Suddenly, he noticed his thumb stroking over your cotton t-shirt. He should stop. The whole team was watching. He was being was too intimate; he'd face stupid quips from Morgan for days. He kept stroking anyway.

He observed your chest rise and fall. Your breaths were shaky but deeper. He relaxed a tad. Vital oxygen was reaching your bloodstream.

“(Y/N), can we try something?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Maybe. What is it?”

The knot in his chest loosened. You responded immediately and with more than two words; you were becoming more lucid.

“Can you sit up and have some sips of Gatorade? I got your favorite flavor. At least, if your favorite flavor hasn’t changed from three years ago.” It most likely hadn’t. Once your opinion settled, it was frustratingly hard to erode your verdict.

“I can’t…I don’t know.”

“I know sitting up is hard. I’ll help you. And I’ll prop you against my chest. I’ll hold your weight when you can’t.”

“KK, Spence.” Your childlike tone tugged at his heart strings.

Spencer and Morgan lifted your limp body from the ground. They manhandled you into a sitting position with your head propped on Spencer’s shoulder and your body tucked between his thighs.

One of his arms stabilized you while the other raised a cold bottle of orange Gatorade to your lips.

After nine sips of Gatorade, you spoke again.

“Orange.” You took another sip. "My favorite.”

He smiled into your hair. “When have I ever lied to you, (Y/N/N)?”

***

Spencer nearly created a crater in the linoleum floor of the ER waiting room with his bouncing heel by the time the doctor came back with an update.

“She had a mild case of heat stroke. We currently have her on fluids, and she’ll need lots of rest for at least the next week.” Doctor Bahamani concluded.

“No signs of metabolic dysfunction? Any respiratory distress?” Reid checked.

Doctor Bahamani smiled knowingly. “She’s going to be just fine, Doctor Reid.”

“Can I see her?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Only two at a time, please.”

Spencer didn’t care who volunteered with him. He moved without thinking. An outpouring of gratitude for his eidetic memory flooded him. Through the thickest brain fog, he could trust his recollection of the hospital to bring him to the correct hospital room.

The security staff practically had to drag him away from your bedside after the ambulance ride. They might have thrown him out of the ER if not for the flash of his FBI badge.

Something nagged at him as he sped past the nursing station.

You were going to be fine. The ER doctor confirmed it. Yet his heart was still pounding and he could barely refrain from running. Even more odd, he wasn’t ashamed of his irrational behavior.

So what if a doctor deemed you were okay? It was you. And he saw you groggier and more out of it than you'd ever been. And who knows how thorough the doctors were with their examination? It was completely reasonable to worry for one of his closest friends.

He just couldn't believe you were alright until he checked you over with his own hands and his own eyes.

***

When you grinned at him from your cot, Spencer wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.

Tears glazed your eyes. But, your gorgeous smile was back.

“Spencer?” You asked, brow raised and head cocked.

He’d been staring too long. He looked like an idiot, lamely standing in the doorway as if he were the one with heat stroke.

“Straighten your head. Your neck is probably tight.”

You smiled, but this time it was tight-lipped and painful-looking. “You’re too worried.”

He watched saline drip down your IV. “Of course I’m worried, (Y/N). You got heat stroke.” With a deep breath as a shot of courage, he sat in the chair by the head of your bed.

There was nothing odd about sitting with his best friend at the hospital.

His chest twisted at “best friend” and his resolve collapsed. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

He liked you. He really, really liked you. He actually might even–

“Luckily, I got out pretty unscathed.” You snapped Spencer out of his spiral. “A little dehydrated. Achy. Might feel sick for a few days.”

“Or weeks.” Spencer corrected.

“Trying to look on the bright side here, Doctor.” You smirked and Spencer swore his right ventricle tightened.

Then, your nose scrunched and Spencer's wiped clean of any concern about his cardiac health.

“What hurts?”

“Just a little achy, Spencer. I’m alright.”

He shot you a look. He knew all your excuses. He knew you went to self-harming lengths to not worry people.

“You’re not alright.” He reached for the red nurse-call button.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Okay…my body aches, Spence. And the IV burns. But they’ve already told me that’s normal. No need to take nurses away from an emergency.”

The nurses at the station desk didn’t appear to be rushing around for anyone, but Spencer feared this wouldn’t behoove his case.

“They can give you pain medication, if you want.”

You hesitated, and immediately Spencer pressed the button. When you smiled weakly instead of bickering, his worry grew tenfold but not without a rush of heat flooding his entire body.

In Morgan's words, he’s down bad.

“How are you doing, sunshine?” As if he’d been summoned, Morgan appeared in the doorway.

Spencer stepped back from your cot. The part of him riled from Morgan’s “sunshine” moniker wants to shove his hand into yours. Spencer thought he hid his annoyance well, but something about Morgan's smirk told him otherwise.

“Um…”

Morgan’s smirk fell. “You feel that bad, huh?”

You chuckled sadly. “Do I look that shitty or am I an open book today?”

“You never look shitty,” Spencer said. A tsunami of blood rushed to his face.

“Anyway,” Morgan said, “Do you want anything, Beauty Queen? I can grab you some jello.”

“Jello sounds nice.” You said, and something in your voice was so vulnerable and naive Spencer wanted to wrap you in his arms as tight as he could. Which was illogical. That would only hurt you further.

He shook his head as if that would remove the thoughts from his mind. “I’m gonna see if I can check up on your labs at the nurse’s station. I’ll make sure they’re giving you the good drugs.” He smiled.

You laughed– a genuine laugh– and Spencer’s heart soared. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I’ll go grab your jello,” Morgan said.

“Hold on, you should stay with her just in case she needs anything," Spencer said.

“I’ll be fine, Spence.” You said, but Spencer was not prepared to take "no" for an answer.

“If you boys wants to run her some errands, I’ll stay.” Emily stood in the doorway. “JJ is coming soon too– she just got a phone call from a very frantic Penelope.”

Your nose crinkled. “Oh no.” You groaned, but you were smiling.

“Oh, yes. Be prepared for some mother henning," Emily said.

“Garcia can’t be any more mother henning than Reid," Morgan said.

Before his face could turn redder than a baboon’s bottom, Spencer fled.

He’s only two yards from the nursing station when Morgan intercepted him at the end of the hall.

“So, you’re going to make your move, right?”

Spencer's body temperature plummeted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tried to shoulder past Morgan, but he was no match for his grip strength. “Reid, c’mon. You like (Y/N).”

Part of him wanted to laugh. “Like” seemed too simple of a word to describe the symphony of feelings (Y/N) started in him. “It’s…” He’s too tongue-tied to lie. “It’s complicated.”

You’re brilliant. You’re beautiful. You’re brimming with empathy. You’re everything Spencer could want. And it scared the shit out of him. Because that meant there’s even more to lose. And if he lost you, there would be no one to blame but himself. It was better for his psyche to not go there with you– to step back from the line rather than risk what would happen if he failed to make it work in the end.

And what if you got hurt? What is you fell in the line of duty? Or worse, what if someone targeted you because of your romantic tie to him? Spencer's already experienced the pain of losing a soulmate-- a concept he wasn't even sure he believed in-- once. He wasn't not sure if he could survive it a second time.

There was too much unpredictability in his life. He chose a dangerous profession. He was gifted a ticking time-bomb of dangerous genes. He’d never forgive himself if he inflicted onto you the pain he’s been through; losing loved ones, whether through death or mental illness.

Morgan's expression turned sympathetic. “Reid, you should give it a shot. Our lives our hectic. And if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

Spencer blinked to block tears from welling. “I just want her to be happy, too.”

“And who says you don't make her happy?”

“His idiotic genius brain.” Rossi appeared from around the corner.

Spencer froze. “You heard?” His face flushed yet again.

“Just the tail end. But Reid…” He trailed off.

Morgan took the hint. “I’m going to get (Y/N) some jello. With my charm, I could negotiate for some whipped cream.”

“Don’t get whipped cream on it. She’s lactose sensitive,” Spencer said.

Morgan's stupid smirk reappeared. “Gotcha, Reid.”

Rossi took Morgan's place. Once Morgan was out of sight, he began his speech. “You love her. Don’t get in your own way.” Rossi put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “And (Y/N) is an incredibly intelligent woman. Don’t insult her intelligence by thinking she can’t decide who is or is not worth taking a risk. And for what it’s worth…a man like you is worth the risk.”

Rossi left Reid staring at his back.

For the longest time, Reid convinced himself he refrained from asking you out to protect you from himself and his hefty baggage. And that’s not completely untrue.

But suddenly, he realized he was primarily trying to protect himself from exposing his vulnerabilities to you this whole time. There’s never been a person whose opinion affected him like yours. There's never been a life he's wanted to protect more except perhaps...Maeve.

But just like it’s up to you to decide who’s worth the risk, it’s up to him to decide as well.

And if today taught him anything, shit happens. And if you slip through his fingers, he doesn't want it to because he wasn't brave enough to make a first move.

And being your person was more than worth the risk of rejection.

Author's Note: Thank you to so much to everyone who stuck around through my hiatus! I appreciate every single one of you! You're super cool :)

Happy to be back! Inbox is open to chat about writing and take requests! Please check pinned "Blurb Requests" post before requesting! (Will update the post as my boundaries update!)

Have an awesome day or night, wherever you are in this crazy world. I am incredibly thankful you spent part of your precious life reading something I penned.

Forever grateful,

shewroteaworld

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 1 year

Note

Spider-verse with a S/O that gets hurt often? Idk it this should be put as clumsy but really up to you. Thanks!

(Hello! Sure I can do here ya go!)

Taglist

Reader Who Gets Hurt a Lot

Miles Morales

Obviously he's worried about you

He's telling you over and over again to be careful

Most likely it is because you're clumsy

So he's watching you out of the corner of his eye almost everyday

See you trip over something?

He may shoot a web at you and pull you back up so you don't fall

But the times he doesn't get you and you do get hurt, he sighs and walks over to help you

He's always glad to help patch you up though

Just don't do anything dramatic like go up a tall building

He may actually have a heart attack

A stressed mother vibes

Earth 42!Miles Morales

He's scolding you more than the others

It's because he loves you and he's worried you may actually get hurt really bad one day

He doesn't want it to get to the point of you needing like, really bad medical attention

You've been to the hospital a few times due to like a broken finger or something similar

He was there those times when they happened and he can feel his heart drop

He may be a little like, annoyed, but more at your clumsiness but he's not blaming you

Sorta like

"Just be more careful, ma. You're gonna get hurt even worse if this keeps happening."

He's just worried and wants to make sure you're alright

Stop scaring him, man!

Gwen Stacy

Gwen may laugh under her breath

It's a reflex and she will help you though

Obviously, she's worried but she's more chill about it

Will help you up and bring you to help clean and bandage up your shit

Unless you are one to harm yourself to the point you need medical

Then she flips out and panics

She's worried, she loves you and wants you in good health

She sometimes can't focus on her health due to being Spider-Woman

So she does her absolute best to make sure you're okay

Will poke fun at you

Tease you and shit but it's from a good place

Will pat your newly acquired injury, kiss your cheek and be on y'all's way

Hobie Brown

He's worried but he hides it

He teases you about your clumsiness, especially if you get hurt because you're tripping and falling down all the time

"Falling for me now, are you?"

Sorta shit like that as he helps clean and bandage your wound

He actually likes helping take care of you

It gives him the feeling of something normal in your guys' lives

Even if it's because you accidentally hurt yourself

He's watching you every few glances and normally saves you from getting hurt

Has either w hand on your waist, holding your hand and it's to keep you up

Will pick you up when you fall

He's more calm, hides his worry and teases you a bit

It's from love though

Pavitr Prabhakar

You're both always getting hurt

You both spend so much time patching each other up

Someone when he tries to help you get up or help you when you get hurt, he gets the same exact injury

You guys match wounds and hospital trips a lot

It's something that now bonds you guys together

So much bandaids, so much disinfectant and so much time spent patching each other up

But he loves those moments oddly also

Especially if he has like scraps on his face and your holding his face and patching him up

He gets to do the same for you and you guys just love it

Obviously he's nervous about you getting seriously injured

But he's usually around to stop it

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kissitbttr · 5 months

Note

omg I am in LOVEE with frat!miguel and cheerleader reader 🙏💕 I was picturing reader somehow getting injured at one of Miguel’s games (maybe a player slams into her or she hits her head), and him literally RUSHING off of the field to help her and people are shocked to see him getting so soft!!!! Ofc, this could be the other way around too, but soft!miguel would be such a shock, especially considering his reputation, and so cute to see 🥲🤲 Xoxo

“y/n watch out!”

your cheer mate scream at you with eyes wide, and before you could turn around, someone else’s bigger physique crashes into you. causing your body to fall and your head lands into the ground with a loud thud,

the audience let out a collective of gasps and surprised, worrying about the small girl getting concussed by the large linebacker who hurriedly get on his feet before spitting countless of apologies,

but nothing compares to how miguel reacts when he sees his girl falls,

his blood runs cold, aggressively taking off his helmet and let it fall into the grass before sprinting towards you in full speed,

“muñeca !!” he screams, voice filled with worried while ignoring the coach calling out his last name. as the rest of the team begins to exchange glances, wondering what the fuck happened to miguel.

because he’s never been the one to leave his position in any circumstances. football means a lot to him, he lives and breathe football.

so to see him completely dismissing the game is a shock to the rest,

“f-fuck i’m so sorry, i didn’t—“

“what the actual fuck was that?!” miguel roars once he gets to see you close, but his angry eyes move towards the guy who just crashed into you. his big hands violently shove the man out of your sight,

“didn’t you fucking hear the rules?! this area is off limits! there’s a line drawn here el hijo de puta!!”

“the fuck?! the ball was—“

“i don’t give a fuck if the ball went through here!! you leave it as it is!! someone could get seriously injured! you want someone to fucking die or something?!”

the team has never seen miguel so angry and red, it’s almost like miguel could actually snap that man’s neck in half. his eyes are filled with vengeance as he continues to call the guy names for hurting you,

beck’s face goes pale. “oh fuck” he mutters, jogging towards miguel and hurriedly put a space in between them. “okay okay, man! easy, easy! don’t start a fight, need me to remind you what happened to chuck last year?!”

beck searches for any significant changes on miguel’s face. heavy breathing combines with a deadly look on his expression before he shakes his head,

“okay good. let me take care of this and go to your girl. she’s still hurt” he pats on miguel’s shoulder pad before he walks off,

miguel is still burning with anger but that soon subsides when he hears you call out his name,

“miggy?”

he never turns around so quickly, bending down to your level as his arms begin to cradle your fragile body before pulling you close. “you good, baby?” his voice is now gentle and soft. “let me see”

his fingers move underneath your chin, gently tilting it back and winces when he sees a small scar across your forehead.

“dizzy?” he asks, you nod in response, hand holding your head. he then looks up to one of your cheer mates,

“get a medic, now!” he yells out, putting your head against his chest so you can rest comfortably,

“o’hara! get back here, game isn’t over!” his coach yells angrily

“i’m not moving until my girl is taken care of! go get someone off the bench to replace me if you have to!” he responds by looking over his shoulder for a moment

the coach’s shoulders slump, brows dipping into a frown as he shakes his head. “the fuck? this kid—“ he grumbles before turning around,

glen nudges beck’s side with his elbow, looking as confused as the rest.

“I don’t get it. he never asks someone to replace him. not even when his knee was busted.”

beck looks over at the two of you, watching how miguel intently taking care of your injured self.

“yeah, I don’t get it, either” beck mutters but with a small smile. seeing how his best friend completely fallen for you was definitely not on his bingo card. it’s a good change, he supposed,

he’s never been this in love with his previous girlfriends. not dana nor xina. you’re pretty much the first. he guesses, you must be the one for him,

beck gets it. he does.

#miguel o’hara blurbs #miguel o’hara #frat!miguel

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oglegoggle · 2 years

Text

Nyehhh 😖

#this is goggles #I feel them the inklings of suicidal depression again it’s been a few years and I’m not pleased by their return #I need to get away from this place #I need people in my life who will actually make room for my weird needs #I need my weird needs actually acknowledged and accommodated #I need to not feel antagonized in my own home #I need to feel taken seriously when I see my doctors #I need my medical issues actually addressed #I need time with others #I need companionship #I need to not always be fighting #I need a paying job #either in money or in housing I don’t fucking care I just need to leave this place and can’t like this #I need a partner who actually means it when he says I’m the most important thing to them #I need to be rid of all this excess crap I own #I need a clean home #I need help with all the cleaning #I need a partner who won’t make months worth of nasty messes and then leave them for me to deal with #I need to be held #I need to feel like I am actually a priority to somebody #I need to feel like I’m more than just a disposable novelty in the lives of those I care so deeply for #I feel so much like a plaything whom exists for others’ character development #I feel so much like my efforts at work are always worthless like I can’t get a fuckin paying job #they keep saying that volunteer work will lead to paid work if you stick with it long enough but I held a volunteer job for six fuckin years #while this new one is a fed thing they keep telling me they prefer to hire folks with degrees #which I guess is the polite way of saying I’m qualified and do the job fine but won’t hire me anyway #how tf am I supposed to get a degree living on disability income I can’t even pay all the bills for the house I live in #i need more support in my life that I just can’t fucking get #I feel like I’m begging and groveling to a completely pathetic world around me #I’m growing more fed up and mean for it all but honestly the mean cockroach motherfuckers are the ones who survive

0 notes

deepestnightcolor · 1 month

Note

Oml I love your writing, I just binged all the Sam fics! I saw you take requests for Harvey 👀 any chance for a “confidential check up?”

Hello, dear anon!~ Thank you so much for both the compliment and request. This was my first time writing a full-blown Harvey fic - and I hope I did suffice :D

Thanks for your request, and thank you so much for your time and love! <3

ᴀ/ɴ: as I said, this is my first time writing a Harvey fic and I am still sick, so I hope it will suffice!!

PS: I hid two Easter eggs this time. >:)

PPS: maybe 2,5, one being a slight nod at @sashiavi >:))

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Harvey (SDV) x afab!reader

ᴡᴄ: 4194 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: medical misconduct, unprotected sex, light nipple play, seductive reader, Harvey's a little insecure.

☾ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴅʏ ☽

A secret that you'd never share? Simple and carnal, your secret was. Primitive, even. You had only made the appointment with Doctor Harvey to finally wrap the man around your finger.

You had tried it fair and square at first, you seriously had! Coming by whenever he had time, bringing him little gifts you were sure he'd like; trying to engage him in conversation.

However, Harvey always seemed so busy, so professional. Telling you to take care and stay healthy and giving you advice on how you achieve just that. Always looking out for you, always gentle in his words and behavior. And by Yoba, it made you want to break him even more.

Also, what better way was there to implement your plan than to catch the little lamb where it felt the safest and most confident? Of course, it was a little unfair, pretending you needed his help and skills to treat an injury, but then again you did. Just not in the way Harvey would expect. He had loads of chances to get the hint, but nothing had worked. Not even when you had fished out the shortest skirt possible out of your closet and wore it with a top that left barely anything to one's imagination, accidentally falling on your knees right in front of Harvey, showing off those lace panties of yours. No, that hadn't worked either. Harvey had let out a gasp that made you believe you had finally done something to him, just to rush to your side and ask if you were okay. If you needed help, if you were dizzy. Fuck did you want to cry out that you were dizzy for him, his touch. Instead, you gave him a sweet smile, fluttering your lashes at him as you told him no, you were fine. But thank you so much, Harvey!

You had scrambled to your feet and made your way back to the farm with your head hanging, and that was the point you decided it would probably need to be all or nothing.

“So, what brings you here today? Maru only noted that you requested to see me. I hope you didn't hurt yourself?” Harvey asked, scooting closer on his rolling chair. You were already propped up on the table, smiling sweetly at Harvey.

You had picked out an excellent outfit for the day, if you were allowed to say so. A blouse that was easy to open up and discard, and a skirt that seemed modest enough yet was nothing but of the mere purpose of covering up your lack of panties. And you were hurting. Terribly so, even. For him.

“Nono, Doc. I just, you know. I've been feeling some kind of way. Under the weather, you might say.” You leaned forward a bit now, running your fingers through your hair before twirling a strand around your finger. You were met with a pair of green-brown eyes, so full of consideration and empathy. It made you want to just sit on his face and make him spill all of his care onto your sweet pussy until you could feel it in every part of your body.

“I see! And how does that show? Do you have a headache? Do you feel more tired than usual?”

So sweet and caring, Doctor Harvey. Too cute to not bite.

You let out a sigh as if you were contemplating, biting around on your lower lip. “No, that's not it. I don't know how to describe it, it's…embarrassing.”

The doctor looked up at you again, putting away his notepad now. He gave you a sweet, genuine smile. A hand landed on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. This is a safe, confidential space; nothing will leave these walls.”

Go on, little lamb. Step right into the trap.

You leaned back a bit, pushing out your chest now. “Well, it's my chest. It's been so…so tender lately.”

A hum. That's all you got. A hum. Or so you thought. Because if you looked closely, you could see more. His moustache was twitching as his eyes flickered down to your breasts. Harvey was a professional, though. He quickly cleared his throat, nodding at you.

“Alright, I will glad- I would be happy- let's take a look, shall we?”

It took a lot from you to not break out in a grin; having the man break out in a stutter like that? It definitely was a step forward.

“Yes, please.” You needed to pretend to be innocent now - you didn't want to scare him away, after all.

Your fingers were quick to unbutton your shirt and your upper body was already bare before the doctor could even properly turn back to you. For a moment, his motions seemingly stuttered to a halt, his hands still clasped together from rubbing the disinfectant on them.

His moustache twitched again as he approached you, taking a seat on the chair again.

“Alright, my hands might be a little cold from the disinfectant, but I should be quick.”

Fuck, you hoped that he wouldn't be. You gave him a nod and what you hoped to be a shy smile, pushing your chest towards him a little.

And then, finally…Fucking finally you felt tender fingers on the soft skin of your breasts. It left you breathless for a moment, helpless as he traced the curves of your tits so expertly.

The moan falling from your lips really wasn't an accident, but Harvey, dear sweet Harvey, decided to let you off the hook. Ever the gentleman, wasn't he?

“Did that hurt?” He asked, his eyes flickering up to you, gently squeezing the flesh again. This time you looked straight into his eyes as you moaned, licking your lips. “No, it just…tingles,” you grinned, eyes following Harvey's dropping hands with dismay.

“Well, I did not find any lumps or irritations that could explain the tenderness. Did any lifestyle changes happen? Or perhaps a new medication?”

Pretending to be thinking, you swung your legs back and forth. One of your feet got in contact with his shin, slowly tracing upwards only to slide down again.

The man’s face was stoic, eyes trained on your face with a stern look.

Yet again, the twitching of his moustache betrayed him.

The thought that you hadn't responded yet reeled you in a little: “No…Well. Maybe kind of? You know…I've been having, well. Thoughts about someone. Thoughts about them touching me, wanting me,” you began, your foot wandering to his knee.

“Could that be it?”

A blush had spread on his cheeks now, and Yoba did you love to see it. He picked up the notepad and quickly jotted something down, then nodded.

“I assume that could be it-”

“And what do I do about it, Doctor? It hurts, after all.”

Immediately, his attention is back on you completely. “Hurts? Where?”

A vague pointing to your body made Harvey's hand reach out, touching your stomach. “Here?”

You shook your head, letting your foot wander down again. “Lower.”

His brows furrowed now and he let his hand slide towards your abdomen. “Here? Are they cramps?”

Again, you shook your head.

“Lower.”

He was hesitating now, looking up at you with an uncertainty you had never seen before, and it felt like another small victory.

“Could you…uh. Point me to where it hurts?”

Click - the trap was snapping shut.

It didn't need many words; you opened up your legs without an ounce of hesitation, revealing your cunt, all wet and ready for the doctor. “There.”

Harvey swallowed thickly, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. Words that wouldn't have him lose his license. It wasn't like he hadn't seen genitals before - much more than one would expect from a small town like this - and he had never been affected. So why was his throat dry now? Why was his heart pounding like this?

“It's getting like this whenever I see handsome men like you, what could that be?”

“It’s getting like…what?” by now he was thankful that he was able to get some words out with his head feeling as light as it did right now.

“I dunno…wet?”

His eyes went straight back to your pussy, staring at it. You were wet. And you looked delicious. But he was a doctor. A professional. He had done so much to be where he was right now!

“Oh! That…uh. That…it- well. It stems from attraction. It's so..so sexual intercourse can happen more easily, you see. All natural. There's no need to worry at all.”

He was pulling back, this damn professional. Even though you could see that you were getting to him. “But…isn't there a remedy?”

Harvey wanted to just sink into the ground. His head still felt light, and he could feel his pants tighten - he had been mesmerized by you ever since you had introduced yourself. And of course, he had noticed your attempts to catch his attention - he wasn't stupid, after all. Yet Harvey had promised himself. Promised himself to not get too involved anymore. And now you were here. Exposed, and seemingly ready for him. So close but- he had to be strong. Be a doctor.

“Well, for one…You could do some self-care. Masturbation is quite healthy for the human body and mind.”

Like hell he'd recommend you to have sex with someone else, not even someone like him could be so professional. You called him handsome after all, for crying out loud!

“Oh! And…how does that work?”

Your patience was running thin now, but you felt like you were so close to having him where you wanted him, despite him being so oblivious. His face was motionless now as he stared at you, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He was obviously looking for words.

“I-”

“Come on, Doctor Harvey. You're supposed to help me, aren't you?” You cooed, interrupting the clouding thoughts before they could really rain on him.

“But- that is the thing. I am your Doctor-”

You didn't answer him right away, your hand wandering to your clit first, giving it a gentle flick.

“And what if you prescribed yourself to be my remedy? I think you're the only thing that can help me,” you moaned.

The groan coming from his direction certainly wasn't professional anymore. A hand, now warmer than before, settled on your thigh. “You said it hurts here?”

Before you could look where his finger was pointing you could feel the pad of it trace through your wet folds.

“Exactly,” you breathed, spreading your legs a little further.

“I can't see much,” he murmured, his cock twitching painfully in his pants. “I'd need to clean you up first before I run some more tests...is that okay with you?”

The bobbing of your head was enough for Harvey to finally break down.

He leaned forward faster than he would have guessed from himself, his fingers spreading your folds, and by Yoba, you were wet. All the more reason to examine you closely, wasn’t it? Keeping you healthy wasn’t bad, after all. It was his job. And if that was what it took, he would oblige – for the sake of medicine, of course. Not because of his throbbing cock and the desperate need to taste you on his tongue; not because he was salivating from the thought alone.

His tongue slowly slipped out of his mouth, a sliver of hesitation lingering in the air. He could see your hole contract when you thought him close, he could see the shivers making the muscles of your thighs twitch whenever his hot breath hit the wetness of your cunt, and yet…wasn’t this wrong? Had he somehow taken advantage of you?

“Harvey, fuck, please?” A small rock of your hips followed your words. Urging him closer. He could smell you now, and holy life, did you smell good. Lured him right into taking a deep whiff, as if he didn’t know he would get drunk on you immediately. Yet he did know and he willingly took another deep inhale. The impatient whine above him caused his eyes to flicker up to your face. You looked down at him, your lower lip tugged between your sets of pearly whites. No words needed to be spoken, and yet Harvey still followed your order.

His tongue slowly slipped out of his mouth; eyes glued to your face. He wanted to see how you would react to that first contact, wanted to see if you felt as hot as he did right now. His pants were really straining against his aching erection, his zipper pressing against the shaft through his boxers. He was pretty sure those were wet too by now, with all the pre-cum he had been leaking. He finally pressed the muscle against your entrance, licking a flat, thick line upwards. And he took his time doing it; so much so that it had your toes curl and your thighs close in around his head. The brunet was quick to react, though, one hand holding your leg open, while the other busied itself with spreading open your pussy for his hungry tongue. His licking had become faster now, but precise enough to avoid your clit. He was, after all, only cleaning you up now, wasn’t he? Still, that didn’t mean that his hot tongue licking up whatever you gave him didn’t make you moan for him. How long had you been thinking about this? Having Harvey between your legs, in any which way he would have offered? Too long. And now he finally had his head buried between your thighs, licking and sucking you up like a starved man offered a meal after ages of going hungry. His tongue licked up and down, from one side to the other, but he still ignored your hardening clit with apparently the same professionalism he had ignored your advances before.

He gave your lips a light suck, then sunk his tongue deep inside of you. A groan left his glistening lips, eyes shut tight while he lapped at your walls eagerly, trying to get as much of you as possible into his mouth. “Harvey, oh fuck, right there,” you breathed, hand flying in his hair to hold onto the strands between your fingers tightly, giving a tug that was harder than you had intended it to be. But that only seemed to spur the male on more, his face burying deeper, tongue and lips working in unison now. And by Yoba, he had never tasted anything this good; so sweet, so…you; and you were addictive.

Your hips bucked upwards for him, if to grant him easier access or just because you couldn’t keep them down anymore, you didn’t know. You didn’t really care, either. Harvey’s moustache rubbed against you in a way that made your head spin, his lips sucking on you while he circled his tongue within you made your whole body tense. Even when pussy-drunk he seemed incredibly precise, knowing just where to brush past, when to suck and when to lick.

You weren’t able to do much anymore, just hold onto his hair and wait for the sweet, sweet release to wash over you and in turn, Harvey’s tongue.

It was close; you could feel it in the ripple down your spine, in the way you clenched around him, you could feel it in the pit of your stomach, too. You were dangerously close to the edge, and one well-placed flick would push you over. You were ready for it; the string of moans that left your lips were dirty, raw, carrying all the words you couldn’t form anymore.

You awaited the feeling of your orgasm crashing over you, not to suddenly feel empty and cold after being engulfed in the warmth of his mouth. But Harvey was standing now, his face wet and his glasses fogged up from the heat that had reached the cool surface, and yet you knew that he was staring right at you. You opened your mouth, but you didn’t trust your vocal cords just yet, so all you did was letting out a confused hum, to which the brunet in front of you smiled.

“You are all clean now- I believe you are ready for further tests.”

Fuck, you were. More than that. By now, you really felt an ache in your body, and the only remedy was there, right in front of you, fumbling with the buttons of his pants. His hands were shaking, enough so for you to lean forward, popping the button open for him. The doctor let out an awkward laugh, moustache twitching from the embarrassed rumble that went through him. “Sorry,” he whispered but quickly switched gears when you pressed a kiss to his lips. The taste of you mixed with his spit made you whimper, the appetite for him only growing within you. You wanted to help him tug down his boxers as well, but instead of fabric, you were met with the soft skin that had been hidden beneath until now. Your throat went dry; you just had to pull away and look at him. He was big, tip coated in a layer of pre-cum, his shaft girthy.

“Harvey, please,” you stammered, leaning back on the table so he could lean over you more easily.

The brunet followed you like a well-behaved lamb, leaning in again to kiss you. You could feel the tip of his dick against your entrance, slowly pushing forward. The stretch the head of his penis caused made your eyes roll back, excitement for the rest of his girth stretching you bubbling inside of you.

Harvey, ever the gentleman, took it slow. Rutting inside of you, centimetre after centimetre, eyes fixed on your face for any signs of pain and discomfort. He brushed your hair to the side to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how good you felt, how wet you were for him, and holy Yoba, did he ever feel anything like this before?

You had to admit, at first, the stretch did hurt a little, but with both him being so tender with you, so gentle, the pain quickly turned into a cloud of lust and despair. You wanted him, and you weren’t afraid to show him anymore. “Harvey, oh, for fuck’s sake, fuck me.”

A twitch, and then a shove that made him bottom out inside of you. A groan from him bled into the moan that tore from you, but that didn’t make Harvey pause. Not anymore.

His thrusts were shaky, unsure at first. He was just so adorable, wasn’t he? His eyes searched yours as if to ask for approval, as if to make sure he was doing this right, and it made your heart swell within your chest.

“You are so good to me, Harv,” you whispered, shamelessly letting your moans slip for him. The brunet’s eyes lit up, and he pushed his hips forward faster, more eagerly now.

Smiling to yourself, you let your head lull back. Harvey’s dick felt so good within you, filling you out with clumsy thrusts that steadied the more confidence he felt. Your back arched in as the brunet found a rhythm that seemingly fitted both your tastes; fast strokes that reached deep within you. The little grunts that left his slightly swollen hips only added fuel to the fire, only made you want him more.

Your legs hooked around his soft hips as he fucked into you with quick thrusts, body working with him to get him to go harder, more ruthless. Lucky for you, Harvey was a quick learner. Dick now fucking into you harder, red tip still pounding as deep as he could go.

The man’s face was a mix of pleasure and astonishment as if he wasn’t able to believe this was really happening to him. You just felt so damn good around him, walls clinging to his hot cock, sucking him off with each thrust. If he had a say in it, he would have never left your sweet pussy again, keeping his dick buried inside of you, thrusting into you whenever he deemed fit.

The moans and whines of his name that filled the examination room made his vision blur; his balls incredibly tight all of a sudden.

“Harveeey,” you gasped out, your hand reaching for his in an attempt to hold onto something again, fingers gently brushing along his knuckles before intertwining. The brunet above you was panting now, his hips never stilling as he fucked into you. His eyes, however, weren’t focused on your face anymore; they had fallen onto your tits that were bouncing oh so nicely for him with each of his thrusts. He just couldn’t help himself; it was too tempting – his head dipped down, teeth catching one of your pretty pink nipples, nibbling on it just to suck it into his mouth moments later.

You could feel the feeling start to grow inside of you again, your orgasm approaching you, even though you didn’t want this to stop yet. You didn’t want this to end just now, now that he was filling you up so perfectly, cock sliding against your squishy walls with such ease; you didn’t want his balls slapping against your wet cunt to stop just yet, you wanted, no, needed, more.

As if hearing your thoughts, Harvey picked up his pace just a little more, his mouth switching to the other nipple to pay it the same amount of attention. The squelching sound of the wetness between your legs was to die for, just like the feeling of his orgasm hot in his veins.

You just felt so deliciously good, better than any neat whiskey ever could have, and it made him go crazy. He felt hot, he felt like he was just about close enough to heaven to feel it, but not quite there. The bucking of his hips grew more desperate as he chased his orgasm, going hard and deep inside of you while his mouth busied itself leaving hickeys on your bouncing tits. The insecurity from before had vanished, and the groans, the begs, the whines, the praise, all coming from you was enough to keep it away.

“Harvey, I am- fuck, I am so close-“

He would have answered, had he been able to. But he had basically gone mute, aside from the whimpers and groans, as well as high-pitched moans that dared to tumble from his tongue. Instead, he just nodded at you and did his best to pick up the pace some more. It was just so hard with you sucking around him so nicely, drooling all over his dick. So hard to focus when he could feel you shake beneath him, making his body ache for the final push.

The bite to your tit he gave you, combined with his deepest thrust yet was enough for you. You squeezed his hand tightly, your toes curling and your back arching in as finally allowed the release to flow over you. You cried out his name, your sweet, pretty cunt spasming around poor Harvey, who was, admittedly, both absolutely pussy-drunk and empty-minded.

His breathing now came in forceful, laboured pushes, and if he had ever heard a patient breathe like that, he would have sent them straight to bed and run endless tests on them. But this – this was nothing but the sheer hunger for one person.

He suddenly slammed forward once more, his back arching in as he moaned out your name loudly, penis twitching as he came inside of you, cum painting your walls white. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to not lose focus, his mouth hanging open as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your legs were quivering with each thrust that sent shocks up your spine from the overstimulation that slowly started to nag at you.

Panting, the brunet tried to keep himself from crashing down on top of you, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead. His eyes were still hazy as they took in your fucked-out expression. You looked ruined but also completely…satisfied.

Your hand was still shaky as you reached up to let it run down his flushed cheek, a smile on your lips. “That definitely helped, Harv,” you whispered, voice slightly more hoarse than it had been that morning.

Harvey cleared his throat, and after a moment or maybe two – maybe also three, he just felt so good inside of you – pulled out of you, shaky legs carrying him over to the sink where he wettened some paper towels to clean you up.

“I am glad I was able to help.”

Disappointment settled in your stomach. Was that it? Did he just go back to his professional self like the table beneath you wasn’t drenched in your wetness and his cum?

“But I need to run a few more tests. I think home visits would be best; I’d need different surfaces and times.”

Click. Two lambs had fallen for the trap

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