dana-scullys-salad

[dana-scullys-salad]

She's taken <<<<<<<< she's spoken for. I don't make the rules I'm sorry

[dana-scullys-salad]

My Love

Synopsis: In which you force your grumpy boyfriend to take a nap in your arms. Rick Grimes x fem! reader.

The dark bags underneath Rick's eyes are more prominent than usual and his blue eyes are heavy and exhausted. His curly locks are messy and hanging over his eyes.

He's standing out on the porch, freshly shaven face after just arriving in Alexandria. Although, the tiny pricks of his beard have started to grow back.

You stand up from the couch where you had been admiring him for an hour and walk out onto the porch.

"You know, we're safe here, right? It's been a few days," you point out, standing by his side.

"Yeah," Rick nods his head, not even bothering to tear his gaze away from the dark street. You let out a heavy sigh and nudge his shoulder slightly.

"Rick, we're safe here. There's guards along the walls. You need some sleep," you point out and his tired eyes finally shift down to yours.

"No, I'm good," Rick assures you with a stern voice. You press your lips together and cock your head.

Rick always get a grumpy attitude when he hasn't gotten much sleep and it's very obvious to the entire group, especially you.

"And that is exactly why you need sleep, grumpy," you point out and his eyes slightly widen.

"I am not grumpy, y/n," Rick dares to crack a tiny smile at your teasing.

"Hey...come here," you grab onto his hand, squeezing it. Rick lifts his head up and follows you inside the house. The lighting inside the living room is dim, candles sitting on the coffee table.

The tiny flames quiver as Rick and you walk past them, sinking into the couch. You watch the knot in between his eyebrows disappear and the heavy weight pressing down on his chest, lift and disappear.

"You know I can see right through you, right?" you ask, grabbing onto Rick's shirt and pulling him down as you lay down on the couch.

Rick obeys and lays beside you, an arm thrown over your stomach. His eyes glisten in the candlelight and his nose twitches.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he grumbles out as your hand flatten against his back, gently rubbing up and down. Rick's arms circle around your waist, pulling you closer and letting his head fall on your chest.

"Yeah, sure," you reply dryly, reaching a hand up and combing your fingers through his curly hair. Rick's eyelids become heavier than ever and his heartbeat is slow and steady.

He feels so safe and warm in your arms, legs sprawled out on the tiny couch. His eyelids slowly flutter close and a smile tugs on your face.

Your skin flushes as Rick slowly fades off into a sleep. His pinks lips are slightly parted open, soft breaths inhaling and exhaling. Your hand gently rubs his lower back as your other hand reaches down and your knuckles run across Rick's cheek.

It's certainly not an easy task for Rick to allow himself be vulnerable and let his walls down. But every minute he spends with you, feeling comfortable and safe is worth it...

[dana-scullys-salad]

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[dana-scullys-salad]

CLAIMED

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader Summary: Y/N and Daryl got separated when the prison fell and he's been trying to find his way back to her. After Beth was taken, he meets up with the Claimers. Daryl is determined not to fall into their convention, refusing to "claim" anything for his own. Until he finds Y/N wandering on the tracks by herself and sees the way Joe is eyeing her. Warnings: a mention of blood and dark themes pursuant to the Claimers

It had been weeks since Daryl had last seen your face. Since he'd last looked into your eyes, shining with unshed tears. Since he'd held your hand and told you to make a run for it, that he'd meet up with you when the dust settled. The dust had settled, but no matter how hard he looked, he just couldn't find you.

Maybe it was because he'd made the decision to get Beth out of the prison first. Maybe if he hadn't taken that time out, he would've been able to meet up with you. Maybe you'd been waiting for him, just like you'd promised. Standing at the relative safety of the treeline and defending yourself from walkers, waiting for him to show up and reunite with you like he'd promised. Maybe something had happened, you'd been forced to flee. Maybe you'd been overtaken by walkers, or killed by one of the Governor's men. Maybe it was just that second of hesitation that had lead to your death.

Still, try as he might, Daryl wasn't able to blame Beth. In the end, he'd made the decision to stop for her. And he'd have to live with the consequences. Besides, it was hard to hate somebody when they were constantly telling him what he wanted to hear. Beth was always going on about how much you liked him, how you'd find him sooner or later. You were tough, Daryl already knew that, but you were damn stubborn, too. And if there was something you want, there was very little that could keep you from it for long. Governor, walkers, and the vastness of Georgia notwithstanding.

It had been comforting to hear, and it gave Daryl some hope that he might not have had without her constant reminders. But now Beth was gone, too. Taken by someone in a black car with a white cross on the back window. That had been the result of yet another foolish decision. Daryl had hesitated. He'd sent her out of the house ahead of him while he dealt with the walkers, and he wasn't there to protect her. She was gone because of him. Just like you were.

It seemed like there wasn't any real reason to continue for Daryl. He held onto the guilt, the responsibility of rescuing Beth, and that kept him walking. But any hope of seeing your face again had dwindled down into almost nothing. He'd lost you, probably forever. And there was nothing he could do about it. Rick's group was scattered, he'd probably never seen any of them again either. Beth was taken. You were most likely dead. Daryl was really and truly alone now.

That was when they found him. The Claimers. At first they seemed amiable, but he quickly learned about their little 'rule.' Something that Daryl found barbaric and pointless. He stayed with them out of convenience, but he refused to even speak to any of them, apart from Joe. He knew exactly what kind of men they were, and Daryl wanted no part of it. So he held out, didn't say a word as the members of Joe's group took his things and tried their best to humiliate him. It had been made clear to him; all he had to do was say one word and they would stop. He only had to lay claim to something he wanted, and it was his. None of them would be able to do a thing about it, per their own rule. But Daryl had pride and patience and stubbornness in abundance. He refused to play their game. Let them strip him of everything of his. So what? At the end of the day, he'd still have his character. The kind of person you would be proud of. Daryl wouldn't claim a single thing.

They'd been walking without pause for the last few days. Daryl's legs were screaming and the sun was beating down on him, turning the top of his head into hot asphalt. He kept walking. The rest of the group did, so he did, too. Joe tried making conversation but Daryl refused it as always.

He hadn't been with them long, but he got the sense that Joe had plans for him. The grey-haired man was always sort of, hanging around Daryl. He always had an eye or an ear on him. He was watching him. It made Daryl's skin itch. It was like Joe was waiting for the day that Daryl would give in.

"So tell me, Daryl," Joe began again after his last two attempts at conversation went belly up. "You seem a capable man. The kind of man who takes what he wants."

Daryl kept his eyes on his boots, trying to look like he wasn't paying any attention to Joe's words.

"You're looking for something, aren't you?" Joe cut to the chase. The abruptness of it caught Daryl off guard. He stopped dead in his tracks and raised his gaze to meet the other man's.

"Huh?" was all he gave in response.

"I can tell when a man's looking for something, maybe somebody you lost along the way. Doesn't make a lick of sense, you being out here on your own," Joe shook his head. "If you tell me what you lost, we can help you find it."

Daryl was about to shake his head, spit out an angry response. Something along the lines of 'I don't need anybody's help,' or 'you can take your concern and shove it.' Something that would make you proud. But before he could say anything, one of the other Claimers called out from behind them.

"Biter!"

In the distance they all caught sight of it around the same time. There was a figure, blurred by the haze of Georgian heat. The closer it got, the more it looked like an ordinary walker. Covered head to toe in grime and mud and blood, unsteady, stumbling footsteps, grey and pale and sickly colored. As Daryl neared the creature he could tell that it was a woman, one leg dragging behind as it tried to put all it's weight on the other. That was unusual. Walkers didn't limp quite like that. They just went forward and felt no pain so the only limp came from the decaying muscles being unable to hold them up. This figure was deliberately favoring one limb over the other. She was also silent. No gurgling moans or undead screeches. This woman was alive.

One of the other men was raising his gun towards the woman. Quickly and quietly, Daryl hissed out, "wait, wait, wait!" The other man was too confused to argue, and held his gun steady without taking aim.

Daryl approached the figure a little more quickly now, the rest of the group matching his speed. They wanted to know what had him so curious about another one of the dead. It was as if the man hadn't seen thousands already.

The woman kept her head down, perhaps unaware of the group of men in front of her or perhaps trying to ignore them. Her eyes were trained on her own boots, watching the gravel under the railroad ties shift under her weight with each step. It wasn't until she heard the crunching of another pair of footsteps that she lifted her eyes from the ground. The sight she met nearly knocked her off her good foot.

"Daryl?" the name spilled out of her mouth before she had a chance to even register the sight of him.

Daryl didn't reply with words. Instead he picked up his pace, his hurried steps turning to a full sprint. He met the woman as she tried to hobble over to him quickly and her face confirmed what he already thought. It was you. You were alive and you were here, right in front of him. Injured and worse for wear, but alive. Daryl's arms flew around your shoulders and you buried your head in his neck. Neither of you cried but you both felt the weight of your reunion pressing down on your hearts.

It had been so long since you'd last seen Daryl. He'd sent you away to wait for him, and you had. But the walkers just kept coming, and eventually you had no choice but to make a run for it. If you'd stayed any longer, you would have been cornered. You'd managed to escape, just narrowly, and you broke out into the forest, heart racing. There you stayed for another few hours, hoping that your tracker would be able to pick up your trail. He didn't come, and soon the walkers grew bored of the prison and found their way towards you once more. Your sore legs carried you the distance to the edge of the treeline. There was a railroad.

You started walking, no clear direction in mind. Just forward. You killed walkers when you came across them and tried your best to avoid people. That was the easy part. You hadn't seen a single soul since leaving the prison. You had begun to think you would never see Daryl again, and your footsteps got heavier with every passing day.

But now, here he was, holding you tight against his chest like he was never going to let go. You wondered how long he'd been looking for you, if he'd given up like you had. You adjusted your hold around his shoulders, tightened it. If you had your way, he never would let go, and neither would you. You were both sweaty and covered in blood and dirt but you were together again. It had been a long way to go from where you were supposed to meet up at the prison, but you'd both gotten there eventually. You'd never felt so happy in your life.

But nothing good ever lasts for very long.

"Who's your friend, Daryl?" it was Joe. His voice cut through the moment like a sharpened blade.

Daryl cast his eyes to the other man. Scanning his face, he saw in his features nothing good. Daryl had always known that Joe was a vile, repulsive excuse for a human. But the thoughts he could practically hear swirling in the other man's head while he looked at you set Daryl's teeth on edge.

"Claimed," the word came out so effortlessly and the hand of his that had woven around your back tightened imperceptibly. You felt it and peered up at his face curiously.

"Daryl?" you asked, echoing yourself from moments ago. He didn't look at you, didn't make any show of acknowledgement. His eyes remained locked with Joe's, dark and cold and warning. You were glad he wasn't looking at you just then.

Joe seemed satisfied with Daryl's acquiescence. He gave the other man a simple nod and turned around to face the rest of his group. Daryl's body relaxed and he looked at you, eyes clear despite the flood of worry in them.

"Ya okay?" he asked, handing trailing up from your back to your shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

You nodded, "what was that all about?"

Daryl just shook his head. After a moment, "how'd ya find me?"

You shrugged, "I wasn't really trying, to be honest with you. When I saw you, I thought somehow you found me."

Daryl nodded and pulled you in for a tight hug that stole your breath. He whispered, "I did."

You pulled back enough to eye him and say under your breath, "is this like a cult thing? Do I have to marry you now cause you claimed me?"

Daryl chuckled lightly and answered, "nah, ya don't have to do anything. Just had to say it so he couldn't."

You nodded and chanced a look at the other men. Each set of eyes were peering at the two of you, dark intentions in all of them. Your hair stood on end and you regarded Daryl carefully.

"Making new friends?"

"No," he answered right away.

"Then maybe we should go," you suggested and finally tore your eyes from the men to look back at Daryl's face.

He nodded, "we will. Just gimme time."

You smiled at him then, and he felt his heart flip. "You found me. We have time," you spoke sweetly. He nodded, a light pink tinting his cheeks. The color only spurred you on and you said, "and hey Daryl? You didn't have to claim me, I'm already yours."

You were lucky he didn't drop dead right then and there.

[dana-scullys-salad]

HAIRCUT

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader Summary: After a particularly potent mental breakdown, (Y/N) decides the best way to deal with her helplessness is to give herself a haircut Warnings: angst(?), fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of mental breakdown/mental illness. Also I wrote this so ungodly long ago and I actually hate it! Which is why I never posted it. But I wanna force myself to start posting more so here we are.

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It had been a good idea at the time. She swore it had. Sure, maybe the fact that her brain was still a little hazy from post-panic attack fog, but she really did think it was a good idea. She'd seen Eddie do it at least a billion times before and it didn't look that hard. Besides, she'd been wanting a change for a while now, this just seemed the perfect excuse.

All of that was very well and good except for the fact that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. To start, the only pair of scissors she could find in the house were some purple safety scissors that couldn't have been used since the fourth grade. On top of that, the only time she'd ever seen anyone cut their own hair was in Eddie's bathroom at two in the morning. He was quick as light and she was usually too tired to really pay attention anyway.

But she had decided to press on anyway, armed with nothing but emotional baggage, far too much confidence, and those damn safety scissors. It hadn't turned out well. So now she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, crying lightly at the monstrosity that now rested atop her head. She wasn't entirely sure how she was supposed to show her face anywhere ever again, and the dread in the pit of her stomach was only exacerbated by the knowledge that Eddie was coming over soon. No doubt he would take one look at her, laugh until he cried, then break up with her right then and there and never speak to her again.

Okay, so maybe she was still a little in her own head about things.

She heard the front door open and close, Eddie having abandoned knocking or ringing the doorbell quite a while ago. Her home was always open to him, and he knew that just as well as she knew that he was not about to break up with her on the spot. Still, she couldn't help the way her heart started to race and nausea filled her stomach at the sound of his approaching footfalls.

The door to the bathroom was pushed open slowly and poor, unsuspecting Eddie Munson was met with a sight that was sure to haunt him for years to come. It wasn't the hair, that he hadn't even noticed, it was the way her big, sweet eyes were clouded with tears, bottom lip quivering, and face already red and puffy from crying. Clearly, she'd been crying for quite some time now, and she didn't seem fit to stop any time soon.

A deep, worried frown took over his face as he checked her over. Once satisfied that she wasn't in any physical harm, he began to assess her emotional state.

"What's wrong?" he asked so softly, so concerned and sweet in that low timbre of his and her emotional floodgates burst open like they were made of duct tape and straw. She was beginning to believe they were.

(Y/N) could do little to hold back the onslaught of sobbing and hyperventilating that followed. She sank into his open, waiting arms and clung to him like a life raft while sputtering an explanation that wouldn't have made sense even if he could understand her through the tears.

"Hey, hey, hey," he tried to soothe, rubbing circles on her shaking back. "Slow down, just take a deep breath."

She tried to do exactly that and the pitiful wheezing that followed would've been comical to anyone but the two of them. But soon, and with enough gentle encouragement from Eddie, those sobs and wheezes turned into slow, steady breaths. It was only then that he felt brave enough to ask again, "what happened?"

She sniffled lightly, ignoring the flutter in her chest when he used his thumb to wipe away the few escaping tears on either cheek. Her face burned red as she answered bashfully, "I tried to cut my own bangs."

It seemed that was the exact moment Eddie had clocked her hair. He'd been too busy, too worried, trying to calm her down to even notice anything was different. But now that he did, saw the mangled, choppy mess that she'd left, he felt amusement running down into his chest. A soft, fond smile danced over his lips and he squeezed her even tighter to himself.

"Sit down and let ol' Eddie fix it," he cooed and wrapped his large hands around her upper thighs, hoisting her onto the bathroom counter. Eddie went to lean back but found that her arms stayed tightly locked around the back of his neck. She wasn't ready to let go yet, and he didn't mind the sweetness of her hug.

"I thought I could do it," she whined, "I watched you do it a bunch."

Eddie chuckled at that, eyeing the safety scissors with an accusatory brow. He picked them up and took a moment to examine them before saying, "well there's your culprit right there. Evil things."

(Y/N) giggled lightly and Eddie felt pride swell his chest at the thought that he was probably the first thing to get her to laugh since this whole fiasco began.

"They were the only ones I could find," she tried explaining herself and was met with a wink from her goofy boyfriend.

"Don't you worry your pretty little messy head," he teased, delighted—and somewhat relieved—when she took humor out of his joke instead of offense.

Eddie reached into one of the inside pockets or his demin jacket and produced a pair of pristine hair cutting scissors. (Y/N)'s eyebrows shot up at that, light smile dusting her lips.

"For emergencies," he simply shrugged, "you never know when your girl is gonna break down crying on your shoulder."

Her heart swelled at being called his. Eddie's girl, a title that would fill her with pride and love no matter how many times she heard it. She simply teased back, "you plan to cut my hair every time I get sad from now on?"

Eddie grinned back and some of the worry left him now that she was joking around again. "Only if you promise to throw those things out," he spoke and gestured towards the safety scissors.

"I can't, I've had them forever," she argued.

"Close your eyes," the boy instructed and once she did, he began snipping away at her poor attempt at a fringe. "I've had a leak in the bathroom ceiling forever, too, but I'd have no problem getting rid of that."

"Fair enough," she whispered, and then she let him do his work.

[dana-scullys-salad]

ACQUIRED TASTE

Pairing: John Dorian x reader Summary: The story of how JD and the reader ended up together. Warnings: none. Just fluffy. My poor attempt at a Dr. Cox rant.

• • •

It could be said that you had unique taste. Maybe even unusual taste. At least, that's what Dr. Cox, Dr. Kelso, Laverne, Mrs. Sullivan—hell, even The Janitor—had all told you. It wasn't the way you dressed, or wore your hair, or the music you listened to. That was all fairly normal. In fact, most of your interests were as ordinary as they came. Still, your most acquired taste was that of your peculiar boyfriend: the one and only John Dorian.

JD had been there for you in your first year as a medical intern. He was only a few years ahead of you, and you'd been one of the newer interns while he was in his last year as a resident. One time in particular, patient had coded. She was a sweet elderly woman that you'd grown unnecessarily close to. Even though she'd been your patient, you froze when you heard the flatline, and it wasn't until Dr. Dorian got there that you felt like you could breathe again. It was always easier to handle things when there was someone more experienced in the room. He let you run the room, and pronounced Miss Fleming dead at 7:02pm. Afterwards, he'd reassured you that you'd done your best, and there wasn't anything else you could do. To your great humiliation, he noticed the few tears that rolled down your cheeks, and he had scrambled to give you the crinkled, brown, cafeteria napkin he had in the pocket of his scrubs. It managed to pull a smile out of you, and from that point forward he was your go-to guy whenever you had a question.

It was only fair. JD was brilliant, and more than approachable. Dr. Cox and Dr. Kelso were terrifying, and you got the sense that Dr. Reid didn't like interns very much. Or maybe it was just you that she didn't like. Carla was loving and supportive, but she always seemed like she had enough on her plate, and didn't need you adding any more on.

That left JD. You'd called him Dr. Dorian at first, until you heard some of his friends refer to him by the two letter nickname. And one day you finally mustered up the courage to ask if you could call him that as well. He gave you a crooked smile and enthusiastically informed you that you could, and that he'd love nothing more. After that, JD wasn't just a superior, but a friend.

He made your first few years a whole lot easier. It was nice having someone around that you could always go to with a question or an emergency, and who always seemed to have the right answer. Furthermore, he was always eager to help, and it was a lot easier to ask him than the surly Dr. Cox or the neurotic Dr. Reid.

As for JD, he loved playing the hero. He'd never understand why Dr. Cox got so irritated when interns asked for his help. JD loved it, he thrived on it. And sure, maybe he was a little extra helpful when it came to you. But, really, who could blame him? You were attractive, fun, kindhearted, and smart. It wasn't his fault that when you asked him for help, out of all people, it made his heart flip.

Which brought you to a few weeks ago. By now, you'd settled in quite well. You were in your final year of residency and you'd gotten to know the hospital like the back of your hand. Stop by the nurse's station and say hello first thing every morning or there'd be hell to pay, always be in the cafeteria before or after the lunch rush to avoid getting trampled, don't ask Dr. Mickhead about his wife, don't take Dr. Kelso's insults to heart, and avoid the Todd at all costs. Beyond that, you'd made friends with JD's gang, a title that you'd given them in passing which the namesake had latched onto and refused to let go of. Carla had stayed just as maternal as ever, Turk was supportive and surprisingly wise, Elliot was still wary of you but warming up every day (even if her hands never did), and JD, of course, was JD.

He was handsome, witty, goofy, and sensitive, with his heart eternally in the right place despite the countless missteps he might've taken. John Dorian was nothing short of the guy of your dreams, even if he had no romantic feeling towards you in return. Or so you thought, anyway.

Carla had been telling you for months to just ask him out but you always had a reason not to. He was busy, or you were busy, or he wasn't interested, or Dr. Cox was hounding you, or you thought you saw JD flirting with the cute radiology nurse, or you were too young, or he saw you like a sister, or you didn't know what Carla was talking about at all. JD? Who's JD?

"For the love of God, just ask him!" Carla groaned, feeling the wall of composure she'd carefully built up start to crack. She'd had about enough of your and JD's endless pining. If it kept up like this for much longer, she was about to take matters into her own hands. "If you don't, I'm gonna ask him for you because I can't take your weepy looks and his dreamy sighs anymore."

"Absolutely not," you shook your head, picking up a random chart to busy your eyes with. Mr. Simmons in room 201; classic case of gastroenteritis. "If I ask him, he'll just say no. And then I'll have to quit being a doctor and move to Costa Rica. Or just kill myself, whatever's cheaper."

Carla rolled her eyes but a smirk danced on her lips. "Oh please, he's had it bad for you since you were an intern. He's not gonna say no."

"I'm not asking JD–" you began to say, having intended to finished that sentence with 'out on a date.' But you found yourself very grateful that you didn't get to finish your sentence when you registered what the interruption had been.

"Ask me what?" JD wondered, strolling into the waiting room where you and Carla stood talking by the desk. The two of you faced him, her with an expectant and irritated look on her face and you, white as a sheet with embarrassment. When no one answered, JD's overactive imagination filled in the blanks and he asked with a giddy look, "does somebody need a date to the zoo?"

You and Carla both shook it off, used to his daydreaming and odd idiosyncrasies by now. Before you had a chance to answer him, however, Carla jumped in, "(Y/N) has a question to ask you but she's too scared."

You glared at her but she only met you with a swift, "you're welcome," and sauntered back behind the desk.

Turning back to face JD, you saw his eyebrow raised, and you felt yourself start to sweat. You knew you had to give him a question, but for the life of you, you couldn't bring yourself to just pull the ripcord and do as Carla said.

"(Y/N)?" He prompted, "why are you scared? You know you can ask me anything."

God, you wanted to swoon and die right there. Damn that crafty nurse for putting you in this situation. You quickly shook your head and came up with a lie, "um, Mr. Simmons, he's presenting with abdominal cramping but I just can't figure out why."

Carla slammed a stack of charts down on the desk, causing you and JD to jump. She glared you down for a second before shrugging innocently and saying, "oops, my bad."

"Alright, well, let's have a look at the guy," JD answered you, recovering quickly. You nodded and handed him the chart. As you expected, he diagnosed Mr. Simmons immediately. But luckily for you, your goofy prince didn't question you for not knowing something so simple. You didn't know if you should feel comforted or offended. Didn't he think you were a good enough doctor to figure it out, yourself? Maybe he knew it was a cover and he was just being kind. Maybe he knew... oh god, maybe he knew you liked him and that Carla was trying to force you into asking him out and he was sparing your feelings by not blowing your cover and–

"Oh, for God's sake, Candace, if you stare at her any harder you're gonna wear a hole in her face," came the harsh, unmistakable voice of Dr. Cox, gearing up for one of his famous rants. "Now, I know you like to be the little spoon, but one of these days you're gonna have to just put on your big girl pants and ask her to the prom, o-kay?"

Your cheeks burned red, and by the time you turned to look at JD, he was gone.

"What did you mean?" you quickly asked Dr. Cox, heart beating out of your chest. "About the prom and all that?"

"Oh my goodness, shorty, you can't possibly be that oblivious. You just can't," he shook his head, staring down at you with disbelief.

"Can you cut to the chase, please?"

"Oh, tou-chy. I guess you like her back," he teased and held a hand up to cover his mouth as he pretended to giggle. Just as suddenly, he dropped the act and crossed his arms, "look, seeings as you are somehow a doctor and ya do have people's lives in your hands, I'm gonna go ahead and assume there's just no way you haven't caught on to Newbie's little crush on you. I say 'little,' of course, when I mean very big. Very very very big. Humongous, even. So big, that when Jordan asks me how those new jeans make her ass look, I say, 'Newbie's crush on (Y/N).' And, of course, I assumed that you knew all about said crush but you were just ignoring it because the thought made you nauseous in places you didn't know you could be nauseous. But now, I'm thinking you got so wrapped up in your own big scary feelings that-cha didn't even notice his, am I right?"

All you could do was nod. Awestruck and a little intimidated.

Dr. Cox made a sound between a growl and a groan and huffed out, "and now I'm nauseous." He grabbed a chart and swept out of the room in one fluid motion.

Carla met your eyes across the desk, satisfied grin playing on her lips. You just mumbled, "I gotta go find JD."

As you fled the room, you could hear her call after you, "I bet you do!"

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You finally found him in the break room, staring up at the TV and not really watching. He was holding a pillow close to his chest, face buried into it to the point that he almost couldn't breathe. He didn't hear you enter the room so you had to announce yourself.

"JD?" you started.

He jumped and threw the pillow, startled. "Hey," he drawled and spoke your name, causing your heart to skip. There was an insincere laugh in his words, "about that thing that Dr. Cox was talking about, that thing he said... about the–"

You cut him off, "will you go to the prom with me? I mean– crap. Not the prom. I don't think there even is a prom. There's no prom! Forget the prom!" You took a deep breath and sighed heavily, wiping a hand down your face. Finally giving in, you figured it was better to just tell the truth, "JD, will you go out with me?"

He paused and everything was silent for a long while as he just looked at you. After a moment, that crooked smile lifted up his mouth and he said in a low voice, "I'd love to."

And that brought you to today. You and JD sat across from each other at a small round table in Coffee Bucks. You giggled about crazy patients and crazier coworkers, feeling lighter than you ever had in your life. JD leaned in for a kiss and you swore you tasted mango and soap on his lips. Definitely an acquired taste.

[dana-scullys-salad]

I'm normal about this

90s WWF Superstars in the style of characters in a graphic novel

[dana-scullys-salad]

the gang as aita asks

[dana-scullys-salad]

LUCK OF THE IRISH

Pairing: Charlie Kelly x fem!reader Summary: Charlie decided to stay in Ireland with his father Shelly, and he happens to meet the cute new coffee shop waitress down the road from their house. Completely by chance, he wasn't stalking her or anything. Warnings: Not really anything, it's VERY tame. Side warning though, I'm not from Ireland but I do attempt to use some Irish slang so if I use it wrong I'm very sorry.

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Charlie didn't get out much. Back when he lived in Philly, it wasn't like he was a shut-in. But he had always tended to keep to himself and only interact with new people when absolutely necessary. His four best friends were generally the only people he'd talk to for weeks, sometimes months, not including the various innocent bystanders that would get wrapped up in their hair-brained schemes. The only woman he'd had strong feelings for since highschool didn't show him the time of day for decades, and once she did, he realized that they simply weren't meant to be. Every minute he spent in Philadelphia since then seemed to drone on and on. Like there was no purpose or meaning to life anymore. All the enthusiasm had drained out of him, Charlie had been drifting for so long, he wasn't sure when it had started.

Which was why the normally travel-shy janitor had jumped at the chance to get out of their usual routine once Ireland was on the table. He wanted to see the country he supposedly hailed from (if his last name were any indication), experience a new place, and give life another shot. It was only coincidence that he ended up finding his father, an old pen pal that he hadn't thought twice about in years. But as they began to reconnect—or rather, connect for the first time—he started to feel a passion that had left him long ago. It was startling when he realized that he wanted to stay, to leave behind his old life, old friends, old apartment, old city, hell, his whole home country. As the days went on in his new home, he found that those things were all beginning to be easily replaced. He found a new house in staying with his father, a new city in the quaint Irish countryside village, a new life as a cheese mongrel or whatever it was they were doing. And even the old love of his life slowly but surely slipped away, and was quickly being replaced by a new one.

Alright, maybe it was a little soon to say she was the love of his life. They'd only know each other a few weeks—well, he'd known her. Without her knowing at all—but that had never stopped him before.

Besides, who could blame him? She was everything Charlie had ever wanted in a girl. Sweet as honey, pretty as the morning dew, gentle as a doe, and did he mention how pretty she was? He'd never met eyes with her, but he was sure that it he did, they would sparkle at him like diamonds. From a distance, her hair looked soft and he could only bet that it smelled as sweet as the glimpses he'd get of her perfume on the few occasions she'd walk past him. Charlie had listened in on her conversations—it was what any good potential suitor would do—and her voice had this musical quality to it. It made him want to write her a million love songs to play along to her everyday conversation. In Charlie's eyes, this girl was absolutely perfect. And moreover, she was perfect for him.

But he couldn't escape the nagging voices in his head. The ones that belonged to his old friends, his old life. Dennis criticizing his every decision, moving in on the girl and capturing her away before Charlie could even introduce himself. Dee shrieking in his ears that no girl would ever want him the way he was. That he was dirty and gross and that he couldn't read, that anyone with half a brain would see what a mess he was and run in the opposite direction. Frank telling him he was better off alone, that he should just stay in the apartment with him and make Grilled Charlies all day long. And what stung the most, was the voice of The Waitress in his head. Every time she'd ever rejected him, every nasty word she'd ever spoken in his direction, all the times she tore him down and told him that there wasn't a chance in hell they'd ever be together. It was all just one great big reminder that he wasn't worth the trouble. That he should cut his losses and stick to staring at her when he was sure she wasn't looking. It had always worked for him, before. Usually. Sometimes. It had worked once or twice. Regardless, that was what he resolved to do.

Unfortunately, he didn't count on Shelly being so observant.

"Well, you've a glad eye for that one, haven't you?" the words were lighthearted, and accompanied by a gentle push on the shoulder.

"I don't have a glass eye," Charlie replied, voice steeped thick in confusion. Not uncommon for him.

"No, Charlie, a glad eye. It means you've got a crush," Shelly explained himself, giving his son a sly grin.

"What? No! No, I– I don't have like a..." he trailed off, losing his train of thought when the pretty girl appeared in his peripheral once more. Charlie and Shelly had been after a quick bite to eat that morning—one could only eat so much cheese in a day—and Charlie had innocently suggested this little coffee shop on the edge of town. It was close to their house and came, of course, with the added bonus of Coffee Girl.

"You should talk to her, Charlie," Shelly suggested, nudging his son lightly yet again. "Ask her on a date."

"No," Charlie shook his head immediately. There was just no way. "I can't, she'd just say no and then I'd keep asking and it would turn into a whole thing for like ten years and I don't wanna go through that again."

Shelly, despite his obvious bewilderment, filed all his new questions away for a different time and place and tried instead to encourage the boy. "You can't know that for sure, son. Listen here, I'm going to find the jacks. She'll be headed your way in a minute, why don't you talk to her?" Shelly hauled himself out of his seat and landed a heavy hand on Charlie's shoulder before he left.

Charlie, unsure of who exactly Jack was and why Shelly needed to find multiple of him, shook it off and began to mentally prepare himself. He'd never actually been a customer at this coffee shop before, always having hung around outside or snuck in to get a look at Coffee Girl before he chickened out and ran back home. There was no way he could handle another rejection from a dream girl. Having taken enough rejection to last most men a lifetime every other week, Charlie wondered if it was worth it to try at all anymore. Things had ended so badly with The Waitress, and after all the time he'd put into her, all the love he'd given over all those years. He wasn't sure if he could take that kind of rejection ever again. But there was just something about Coffee Girl, he couldn't describe it. Something deep inside of him just told him that she was the one for him. That little voice in the pit of his chest always fighting all the other, much louder, much meaner voices in his brain telling him that she'd only hurt him like The Waitress. Or that he wasn't good enough for her, or that he'd already screwed it up somehow, or that–

"Hello? Sir?"

Shit.

How long had she been standing there? How long was he staring off into space like a maniac? She had to hate his guts now, of course she did, why wouldn't she? He was a creep and now she knew it, too.

"H..." Charlie made to say hello back, but the word got caught in his throat. It just came out as a throaty, breathy sound, and the crazed look in his eye only served to make him look all the more deranged. Nevertheless, he pushed through, remembering Shelly's encouragement and listening to the little voice in his heart for once. "Hello."

And then she did something that made him think that somewhere along the way, he'd died and gone to heaven.

She smiled at him. So beaming and bright and full of warmth that he thought he might never be cold again. It caught him so off guard he couldn't speak. In all the years he'd spent loving The Waitress, he could count the number of times she'd smiled at him on one hand. And at least three of them had been cruel and at his expense.

"Hi!" Coffee Girl greeted him, overly chipper to have received his full attention. "How are you, this morning?"

"Good! I'm," he laughed nervously, that had been too loud, "I'm good. How are you?" So far so good, even though he was sweating through his shirt. Oh well, the army jacket would hold off the pit stains from being visible hopefully until the end of this interaction.

"I'm great, thank you for asking," she replied and smiled down at him once again with a certain twinkle in her eye (he was right, they really did sparkle). Charlie had seen it before, usually directed at Dennis from some drunk, helpless girl, but he knew what it meant all the same. She liked him. Maybe just barely, but she did.

Coffee Girl looked at him a little too long, smile faded but still soft on her lips. She couldn't help it, he was just so cute. Obviously, he was also quite nervous to be talking to her, which only made him that much more endearing. He just held that eye contact with her for so long that she almost forgot she was supposed to ask him his order.

"Sorry," she shook her head with a light, embarrassed laugh, cheeks turning the slightest pink shade. Charlie felt his heart leap at the sight. "Can I get you anything?"

"Date?" he asked, suddenly. So suddenly, he caught even himself by surprise. The way her eyebrows jumped up just a little sent his heart right back into his stomach, and he stumbled to explain himself. "No! Not a date, sorry– like a, um, y'know, like–"

"Are you asking me on a date?" Coffee Girl interrupted him, if only to stop him spiralling.

Here it comes. Dammit, Charlie. He should've known better. Now, she was going to laugh, tell him that was ridiculous and walk away. Or glare at him and snarl that she'd rather do literally anything else in the world. His brain voices were right and he should've just listened to them in the first place. Now, he had to brace himself for the inevitable, painful rejection. The only thing he could do was apologize and hope he never saw her again.

It was only when she kept talking that he realized he'd never actually answered her question of whether or not he was asking her on a date. It probably didn't matter, anyway.

"Cause if you are, I'd– well, I'd like that, a lot," she spoke. This was out of character for her, she didn't usually do this sort of thing. But something told her that Charlie didn't either, and if she didn't make some kind of move, they'd stay right there staring at each other until they were both grey and old. "But I don't know your name."

Charlie was frozen. He knew he should respond. He wanted to, more than anything. But he just couldn't believe his own ears. She had said yes. Had she said yes? He thought she did.

"Yes," he blurted out, saying the first word that came to mind. Shaking his head and starting over, he said, "sorry, I mean, I'm Charlie." With that, he gave her a toothy grin that made her heart melt into a puddle.

"It's okay, Charlie, you don't have to be sorry." There was that warm smile again, and that sweetness that he loved. Charlie supposed that he shouldn't have been so surprised. He knew she was sweet, that was why he liked her in the first place. For whatever reason, he just expected her to be sweet to everyone else but him. Most girls usually were.

His smile faded down into one that was a little more natural. Gentle, kind, and overall surprised at her good nature. It was a very pretty smile, she noticed. And while she would've loved to stare at it until her shift ended at eight o'clock, she could see her manager beginning to poke his head out of his office.

"Could I get you something to drink?" she asked him in a voice that made him wonder if she'd dipped her tongue in honey while he wasn't looking.

He grinned sheepishly and asked, "you don't have any beer, do you?"

Coffee Girl grinned back, pride swelling her. "It's your lucky day, Charlie," she teased him good-naturedly.

As Charlie felt another flutter in his chest, he spotted Shelly coming back over out of the corner of his eye. Here he was, Charlie Kelly, sitting in a coffee shop, arranging a date with the cutest coffee shop waitress he'd ever laid his eyes on, his father only a few steps away, a beer with his name on it, and even the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. He almost couldn't believe it. Maybe he really had died and gone to heaven. Maybe that cruise ship really was purgatory, and everything between then and now was hell. Maybe getting away from The Gang was the one thing he needed to do in order to get into heaven. Whatever the case, he was sure it didn't matter.

Delicate smile still perched upon his lips, Charlie locked eyes with Coffee Girl once more. He spoke softly, "yeah, I think it is."