Party Planners | E.M.

Party Planners | E.M.

You and Eddie discuss your ideas for bachelor and bachelorette parties, and your limits — eddie x fem!reader fluff with a hint of angst

warnings: a little angsty, worries about boundaries, mentions of sex work (not in detail at all)

words: 0.9k

“Okay, I’ll see you soon, Nance. I’m so excited! Bye!” Were your last words before hanging up the phone and walking out of the room with a giant smile across your face. 

You walked downstairs and found your fiancé on the couch watching cartoons and eating a bowl of cereal. He turned around after hearing the sound of your footsteps and immediately noticed your grin. 

“What’s got you all smiley?” He asked, already knowing most of it since the walls of the trailer were extremely thin, but wanting to hear you talk about it anyways. 

“I was on the phone with Nancy.” You sat down with Eddie, still smiling. “We were planning for the bachelorette party.”

He scooped up a spoonful of cereal and nodded. “Ah, so that’s what all the giggling was about.”

“It’s exciting stuff, Eds. You know too ‘cause you have your party coming up too.”

“I do, but it doesn’t sound as cutesy and fun as your party. What do you ladies have planned, exactly?”

You were reluctant to tell Eddie all of your plans. You weren’t hiding anything. In fact, it was a relatively calm plan as far as bachelorette parties go. Honestly, you just weren’t all too familiar with the concept of bachelorette parties and you weren’t sure how customary it was for the couple to tell each other in advance. 

Maybe it was like the way the groom isn’t allowed to see the bride’s dress before the wedding. But ultimately you decided that you would risk any potential bad luck for Eddie. 

You cuddled up against him, and Eddie put his bowl on the coffee table so he would wrap his arms around you. 

“We’re gonna go to Nancy’s place, she’s gonna make lunch and we’re gonna pregame a little while watching some John Hughes movies. Then we’re gonna go bar hopping until we get tired or one of us throws up.”

“Sounds fun.” Eddie shrugged. “Not as fun as my party with the guys, though.”

He was clearly leading you to ask more questions, so you followed along and did what he wanted. 

“And what are you boys planning?”

“I can’t tell you that! It’s bad luck.”

You rolled your eyes, yet he couldn’t even see them since your head was resting on his chest. “I told you! We already have bad luck if that’s true.”

“Well, I still can’t tell you. But it’ll be wild. You’ll hear about it when I come back home hungover and still on a high the next day.”

Eddie didn’t answer any further, just turned his gaze back to the screen across the room, watching the children’s cartoons he was playing because it was the best thing on when he sat down.

You told Eddie your plans, so why wasn’t he telling you his? Neither of you were leaving the city for the parties because of your budget, so you wondered what he could have planned. 

Your mind started going to dark places, imagining your fiancé going absolutely crazy during his bachelor party, and you didn’t like the mental image you had just conjured. 

“Eddie?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

He hummed in response and loosened his arms so you could turn yourself around in his lap and look at him in his mesmerising brown eyes. 

“I know we said we wouldn’t really have input on each other’s parties but can I make one request about yours?”

Eddie looked confused, but willing to listen and oblige nevertheless. “Yeah, what is it, baby?”

“No hookers.”

“What?” 

Eddie looked stunned, not expecting your answer. That detail only worried you more. Before you even started to elaborate, tears rimmed your eyes even though you were trying to be stern yet kind. 

“I know they’re kind of a bachelor party staple, but I’ve never liked the idea, and I don’t really want you doing anything with other women. Strippers, I think—”

Eddie cut you off as he could see you becoming closer and closer to crying with each word. 

“Sweetheart, I promise that wasn’t at all a part of the plan. I would never want that either.”

“Really?” You pouted. 

“Really. We were just going to get super wasted at The Hideout and then roleplay Lord of the Rings.”

A breath of relief escaped your lungs. It’s not that you didn’t trust Eddie, you were just worried that there was a difference in your visions for how you would commemorate the last bit of time before getting married. 

Eddie gently combed his fingers through your hair, pressing a few kisses on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just teasing.” Eddie apologised softly. “Honestly, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. You’re the only woman I have eyes for.”

While Eddie was apologising, you took the time to gaze into his adorable button eyes—the eyes you hoped your children would have some day. For each second you watched him talk, you grew more appreciative of how sensitive and genuine he was being. 

“You’re so sweet.” You told him honestly. 

“You’re sweeter.” He replied just as sincerely. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

be my angel

in which BAU fem!reader was injured on the job, but is refusing painkillers at the hospital. spencer thinks he knows why.

fluff (+a little angst) warnings/tags: established relationship, hospital stuff, reader got beat up by an unsub, discussions of spencer's past addiction, mentions of period cramps, reader ends up being administered some sort of painkiller a/n: another draft i found in my literal hundreds of pages of abandoned wips and fixed up cause it's cute, I hope you like!!!

Spencer is tearing through the hospital. They all keep saying you’re going to be okay, but what does that even mean? Why is nobody telling him anything? He’s not even sure he heard what the orderly at the front desk said, but his feet are carrying him with a strident purpose through the winding white halls, so he has to assume he at least subconsciously knows where he’s going. 

Finally he spots Penelope, a beacon in her candy-colored clothing, speaking to a doctor in hushed tones. Penelope sees him approaching and turns away from the doctor, looking harried and exhausted. 

“Is she okay? What happened?” Spencer demands, before either of the others can say a word. 

“She’s okay,” the doctor assures. “She was beat up pretty bad—concussion, broken ribs, some bruising that looks worse than it is. There was a clean shot through her arm, but—” 

His blood runs cold. Nobody told him you were shot. Why had nobody told him you were shot? 

“I need to see her.” 

The doctor frowns, glancing between the two agents. 

“I’m sorry, are you her spouse?” 

“Yes. No, not yet, I just—I need to see her, please. Now.” 

“Sir, unless she—” 

“Just let him see her!” Penelope practically yells. “She wants him here, believe me.”  

The doctor clenches her jaw and scribbles something on her clipboard. 

“Okay. Maybe you can try to convince her to accept some painkillers.” 

Spencer’s frown deepens. 

“She’s refusing pain management?” 

“We gave her as much ibuprofen as we could, but she refused anything stronger than that. She has to be in a lot of pain right now, and there’s no background of addiction.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Spencer says, already twisting the silver door handle. He has a sneaking suspicion as to why you denied pain treatment, and it makes him feel incredibly guilty. More than he already did, after this entire debacle. 

The sight of you, bloodied and bruised and obviously suffering has his heart splintering right down the middle. Whatever meager semblance of a smile he can scrounge up and offer is reflected back to him on you—which only makes him feel worse. As always, you’re putting on a brave face. 

“Hey,” Spencer says quietly as he closes the door behind him. 

“Hi,” you croak. “How do I look?” 

He approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing your hair away from your face. 

“How do you feel? The doctor told me you wouldn’t accept pain medication,” he murmurs. 

You sniff. 

“I feel okay. Did she tell you it’s not as bad as it looks?” 

But your voice is so small, so wavery and weak, that he knows you’re lying. 

“Sweetheart...” 

You’ve been holding it together since the unsub beat you nearly unconscious. You held it together as he ran away, even got a couple shots in before he turned around and returned fire. You held it together while you sat against the dirty truck, bleeding out, not sure if your team was coming, and you held it together in the ambulance, and for the past thirty minutes in this hospital bed. But all it takes is one gentle word from Spencer, with that concerned, solicitous look in his eye, and the floodgates are opening. Tears spring up in your eyes and begin silently falling down your dirtied cheeks. 

“It’s okay!” you attempt to reassure him, affecting cheeriness even through the tears. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine!” 

He says your name soft and low and he tries his best to keep his tone even though he is liable to burst into tears or start yelling at someone (not you) at any minute.  

“I know that’s not true. You have broken ribs and a gunshot wound. I know how badly it hurts to breathe and how it feels every time you move your arm. That is too much damage for over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. You need real analgesics.” 

“I don’t,” you whisper. Your teary eyes make his whole body ache. He squeezes your hand—the one that’s not connected to the wounded arm. 

“Because of me?” You stare at him blankly, as if you’re shocked he was able to put two and two together. “I promise you don’t need to worry about that.” 

You sniffle. 

“But what if—what if they give me the drugs and I get all weird and it’s, it’s like... triggering for you, or something?” 

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve worried about that. I’d rather see you a little tired and out of it than in extreme pain and trying to pretend you’re not. You getting the pain relief you need in a medical emergency is not going to make me relapse.” 

“But I really think I could go without,” you begin, voice already tightening around a cry. “I’ve—I’ve had period cramps that were worse than this.” 

Despite himself, he chuckles. Goes back to stroking your hair. 

The laughter fades quickly. All the pain you’re in is so evident in your eyes. The dissociative glassiness, the tension around them, the bloodshot quality—he's seen it many times before, and he hates it on you. 

“Will you please tell them you’re ready to take something? They won’t give you Dilaudid. It’s too strong. They’ll give you something that I’d have no interest in anyway.” 

“Not funny,” you whisper. 

He ignores this. 

“Will you let me call the doctor back in?” 

You take a deep, shuddering breath—or at least, you try to, before you’re loosing a sharp squeak that deteriorates into a little sob. The ribs. 

Spencer doesn’t bother asking again, just gets up and begins to walk away as efficiently as his legs will carry him. You need painkillers and he thinks it might be fastest to just fetch the doctor or a nurse from the hallway. 

“Wait,” you plead.  

He stops. Reminds himself that you need him right now—not his medical opinions. Spencer turns back around and approaches again, crouching by your bedside this time. 

“What, honey?” 

“I don’t...” 

You trail off, overcome by something like fear in the width and shine and nervous dart of your eyes. Spencer knows, everybody at the BAU knows, that showing fear to a serial killer will get you killed that much quicker. During your time alone with the unsub, which is a can of worms Spencer literally cannot psychologically open right now, you had to put on your bravest face. Even while you were being beaten within an inch of your life. Even when you thought you were going to die, alone, and that your team—that Spencer—wasn't coming back for you. Because that’s the kind of thing you have to do to cope when you’re at rock bottom. But you were terrified. Petrified. That doesn’t just go away—and Spencer knows it’ll be bumping against the surface until it finds a way out.  

He has to remember that just because you look unafraid and you act unafraid doesn’t mean you aren’t. 

“You were so brave,” he manages after he’s sure he can say it without incident, swiping moisture from your cheek. “You did everything exactly right.” 

“I know,” you whisper, chin trembling. Spencer knows you, and he knows this kind of trauma well enough to know that you’re thinking, I did everything exactly right, and it wasn’t enough. I did everything exactly right and this is what I have to show for it. 

“But nobody needs you to act like it wasn’t hard, okay? You don’t need to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. You were so, so brave, angel. You don’t have to be brave anymore.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, sending a new wash of tears over your tacky cheeks. A few moments pass. You say nothing. He hopes you’re not going to hide away inside yourself like he did. 

“Will you please, please, let me get the doctor?” 

At least this time you don’t immediately say no. 

“Will you come right back?” 

“Of course.” 

Finally, you nod your hesitant assent, and Spencer presses a careful kiss to your forehead. 

A few minutes later, the doctor—who was shocked that Spencer was able to so quickly change your very made-up mind—is back, and so is Spencer. It only takes a moment for them to determine the best course of action for you and soon the fist around his heart is loosening its grip as he watches some of the agony melting from your eyes. 

“Better?” he murmurs as the nurse who’d administered the drugs leaves, fanning his thumb over the underside of your wrist. You nod, already appearing sleepy. 

“Can you lie down with me?” 

He smiles at the way your words slip against each other, simply relieved that you’re able to relax and no longer in extreme pain. 

“Hospital beds aren’t rated for two people.” 

“Spencer.” 

It’s enough for him to climb onto the bed—not that he was ever going to deny you what you wanted to begin with. The fit isn’t exactly perfect—he's a bit too long and combined the two of you are just slightly too wide—but with some finagling it’s comfortable enough. Spencer has slipped his arm underneath you and your head is on his shoulder and he’s so glad to have you in his arms and so grateful that you’re okay he does something almost like praying in his head as he kisses your hair. 

“Hey. Ask me about my bruises.” 

“Why? Do they still hurt?” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

It’s dumb and it doesn’t make sense because you didn’t bother waiting for him to actually set the joke up—but he smiles dryly nonetheless. 

“Can you please give me... I don’t know, 36 hours before you start making jokes about almost dying?” 

“Clock starts now.” 

“Thank you.” He feels your lips curve into a half-conscious smile against his neck. It’s a wonderful feeling. “How are your ribs? Breathing feels okay?” 

“Mhm. Love breathing.” 

“Mhm. And your arm?” 

“Like I got shot.” 

“Well, that’s pretty much unavoidable. But not as bad as before, right?” 

“Right. Spencer?” 

“What, my love?” 

A little pleased puff of air warms his shoulder. He carefully rubs your hip. 

“Will you tell me how brave I was again?” 

He takes a silent, very deep breath.  

“You were incredibly brave. And smart, too. I’m really proud of you for how you handled that situation. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but I don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Especially when you chose to stay put by the truck, instead of chase him. I know that wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was the right choice.” 

“I thought you guys maybe weren’t coming,” you murmur, no hint of sadness in your smushed, flat voice—like you’re barely awake. “I waited half an hour and I thought you weren’t gonna find me.” 

“Angel, I will always find you. We didn’t stop looking even once, as soon as we noticed you were gone. I’m just sorry I wasn’t with Emily and Rossi when they got to you.” 

“’Nelope told me... she told me you got really angry and scary.” 

He stares at the ceiling and considers this. 

“I could see... how what I was feeling would be interpreted that way. I was pretty angry. But not at Penelope or any of them. I was mostly just scared.” 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you mad.” 

“You did not. I wasn’t mad at you. And it’s not your fault that I got scared. You were just trying to do your job. None of this is your fault.” 

“She also said that you said fuck like... three times.” 

“Mm... doesn’t sound like me,” he evades. You giggle, and the sound is more a relief than any drug he could take.

“No, seriously, I’m so mad I missed it. I love hearing you swear. Tell me what you said—and you have to cause I’m all messed up so I get whatever I want.” 

He sighs in mock annoyance. 

“Well, she’s wrong. I only said fuck once. I used fucking as an intensifier twice.” 

You hum. 

“Sexy.” 

“Alright,” Spencer laughs, flushing as he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Go to sleep before I tell them to up your dosage, weirdo.” 

he’s sooo silly :(

he’s sooo silly :(

levi may not be the type to call you honey, baby, or sweetheart, but he is the kind of man to hit you with a “that’s my girl”.

when you turn red, as of course you do because he’s never once said anything like that before, he arches an eyebrow in confusion. “what’s wrong with your face?”

Imagine going to the human world for a vaccine and coming back tired. Cause you know they put some amount of the sickness into the vaccine so your body can figure out how to defeat it. So, imagine that you tell the boys that, like so casually.

Satan: so what do they put in the vaccine

Mc: It's a minute amount of the actual sickness and......

Lucifer: Wait, they make you sick?!

Mc: What no, it doesn't-

Satan: So they are making you sick?!

Mc: What no?!

Asmo: how is that even allowed?!

Mc: oh my, it's FDA approved, I goes through lot of test for it be okay for the population to use!

Levi: WTH IS THE FDA?!

I can just imagine their disbelief, given their privileges as demons with almost absolute immunity, and Mc simply explaining that we have a vaccination card, that antibodies from some people are used to make them, that the first vaccine was made from a pustule from a cow…

Mc: Guys, guys please, it's a very common thing, vaccines have helped to eradicate diseases!

Belphie: I don't believe it, how is injecting you with a disease going to help eliminate it?!

Mc: Because your body learns and -

Mammon: Not if it kills you before!!!!

Mc: *watching them wearily*

Satan: I don't think that's a safe way to treat a human.

Mc: Not you Satan, not you too... the death rate has gone way down since they were invented!!!

Levi: I'm sure that FDA is planning something bad!!!

Lucifer: You are forbidden to go to the human world to treat yourself from now on, we can't leave the health of a fragile human in the hands of those crazy people.

Mc: But- *staring at them* you know what? I'm going to sleep, I'm too tired for this *leaves*

Asmo: What the hell is wrong with nowadays humans injecting themselves with diseases?!!

Beel: Maybe *worried* it's a sacrifice in exchange for that decrease in mortality that Mc said?

Satan: I'm quite confused, the last time I studied human medicine they used leeches….

Lucifer: Anyway Mc is banned from going to the human world *very serious* or consuming anything from the human world until further notice.

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This really is funny, although Satan surely knows about these things, or maybe he stopped reading about that subject 1000 years ago and doesn't believe that medicine has advanced so much in that short period of time 🙄. Thanks for the suggestion, I had a lot of fun 🩷

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