#So that immediately backs up the hospital

[whoneedslovewhenyouhaveknives]

Uhh... can't think of just one so:

Managed to set my own broken arm by accident as a kid. (Fell outta a tree, woke up to see a funny bump on my wrist. Thought 'That ain't right' and pushed the bump back in. Hospital then told us I set my own broken ulna.) (In case you're wondering, the casualties that broke off were the ball-looking thingy on my ulna and my growth plate on my radius. One of those is significantly more important since the growth plate helps keep your arm growing longer.)

Managed to get what was called a "pyogenic granuloma" on my palm after accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil. (Warning you now, don't look up pictures of those on the big G. They managed to gross me out.) Doctors were very curious, and I needed surgery since apparently that little lump had roots like a mushroom.

I've never been stung by a bee or wasp in my life. (This fact somehow surprise more people.)

I have never tried a burger until last week. I'm a full grown adult who exists in the US. When my sister was told about said burger consumption, she immediately thought I was a fae who swapped places with her sibling.

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[ravens-bird]

"You really want to test me right now?" - Zayne.

Pairing: Zayne x F!Reader/MC

Tags: Boyfriend Zayne, uh not-quite-smut smut, oral F!receiving, kissing, fingering, thought of adding semi-exhibitionism, but i have no brain juice left - it's literally 3am. "Love" used as nickname

wc: 1.5k.

Note: Y'all... Guess who just had a dream and decided to write this right after 😮‍💨 Definitely not proofread 🦦 (I don't know what happened, the post got fucked zo repost)

You arrive at Akso Hospital and make your way to the receptionist’s desk, finding Yvonne sorting through paperwork.

"Hey, Yvonne. Busy day?"

She sighs, rubbing her temples—a rare display of exhaustion. You quirk a brow.

"You have no idea," she mutters. "Between the long shifts and this mountain of paperwork, I could use a vacation."

You chuckle. "I bet. Speaking of rounds, do you know where Zayne is?"

"In his office. He just finished up his last patient visit, so he should be resting right now." Then, with a knowing glint in her eyes, she adds, "But he mentioned clocking out early today. I wonder why…"

A playful smirk tugs at your lips. "I might have an idea."

She grins. "Go on, then. Before something else comes up."

You thank her, and make your way up to his office, your heart picking up speed at the thought of finally seeing him after so long.

It had been two weeks since you’d last seen Zayne—his business trip to Mt. Eternal with Dr. Noah had kept him away, and by the time he returned last night, you were already gone on a last-minute mission. This morning, he’d left for work before you even got home, and seeing him had been the only thing on your mind the whole day.

Naturally, the first thing you did after getting off work was come find him.

Stepping inside, your eyes land on him immediately.

Zayne is seated on the couch, his coat and glasses set aside, tie loosened as he leans back with his head resting against the cushions. Was he asleep?

You hesitate for a moment before softly calling his name.

He stirs, blinking up at you in surprise. That’s all the confirmation you need. In a heartbeat, you close the distance, launching yourself onto him before he can even stand.

Zayne grunts at the impact but recovers quickly, wrapping his arms around you as you settle into his lap. "You could’ve just said hello, you know."

You nuzzle into his neck, inhaling the faint, yet familiar scent of his cologne. "Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I missed you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers squeezing gently. "I missed you too." His voice is softer now, more intimate. Then, amusement flickers in his eyes. "You’re awfully energetic for someone who spent the night hunting down wanderers."

You groan against his skin. "I should just kidnap you for the weekend."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Oh? And do what with me, exactly?"

You pull back slightly, to playfully glare at him. Before you can speak, he lightly presses the back of your neck to bring you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“How was your day?” he asks, kneading the back of your neck gently and you melt into his touch, instantly distracted.

“Tiring, but it wasn’t as serious as Tara had made it sound,” you sigh. While the clean-up itself had been a walk in the park, the travelling had been tedious, even with the faster and advanced motorcycles from the Association.

His eyes were bright, and he was looking at you so warmly that you couldn't help but beam at him.

"Yvonne said you were clocking out early." Your fingers find the loose knot of his tie, tugging playfully. "Any particular reason?"

His gaze dips to your lips before he clears his throat. "I figured we deserved a night in."

"Mmm." You hum, letting your hand drift from his tie to his chest, feeling the steady pulse beneath your fingertips. "You’ve been gone so long, Zayne. Do you know how hard it was to sleep alone?"

His jaw tenses slightly, but instead of addressing the obvious implication in your words, he exhales slowly, as if willing himself to stay composed. "We have chamomile tea at home. Studies show it can improve sleep quality with its mild sedative effects when taken before bed."

You blink up at him. Then a slow, sly smile spreads across your lips. "Chamomile tea?" Your fingers graze the fabric of his shirt, trailing lower. "Right, but that wouldn’t help."

His brows knit slightly. "The white noise machine in the bedroom has a setting that mimics rainfall—"

"Not the same as having you next to me."

Your voice is softer this time, but there’s no mistaking the way your fingers press against his chest, the way your body leans into his just enough to make your point.

His grip tightens slightly. "We are still at the hospital," he reminds you, though his voice lacks its usual firmness. "And you're making this difficult."

You smirk, tugging the tie loose until it comes off. "Am I?" You shift just enough for him to feel the friction, watching as his breath catches. "I’m not even doing anything."

The first button of his shirt comes undone beneath your touch, your nails grazing his collarbone.

His hand snaps up suddenly, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.

"You really want to test me right now?" His voice is a quiet warning, laced with something dangerous.

Your pulse spikes.

"What if I say yes?"

For a moment, he just watches you, tension coiling between you like a drawn bowstring. Then, Zayne exhales slowly, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin before he tilts his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath.

There’s nothing hesitant or soft about it this time.

A small gasp escapes you, and he swallows it greedily, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him.

"You’re doing this on purpose," he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint.

You don’t deny it.

When he finally pulls away, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before he shifts beneath you, his hand trailing up your thigh and to your heat, rubbing you through the thin material of your pants.

"Zayne—" your voice hitches as his fingers press more firmly.

"Yes, love?" His tone is teasing, though his own breath is slightly uneven.

"What happened to being at the hospital?"

"You talk too much."

Before you could retort, he moves again, picking you up with startling ease and changing your positions until you're the one beneath him, pressed into the cushions. The feel of his weight against you, the press of his hips, and his growing arousal, makes your stomach flip in anticipation.

His fingers make quick work of the button of your pants after undoing your belt, pushing them down just enough before his hand dips between your thighs, his touch firm and teasing.

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jerking against his palm as he rubs you through your underwear. He watches you closely, his pupils blown wide with desire. His fingers slip beneath the last barrier of fabric. The sensation makes you whimper.

"So impatient," he speaks in a low voice, his voice a rough whisper as he presses down just right, making you arch into him.

"Zayne—"

He silences you with a heated kiss, swallowing every sound you make as he finger-fucks you. His free hand grips your hip, keeping you pinned as he builds a slow, torturous rhythm, his breath hot against your lips.

"Is this what you wanted?" His silken murmur makes you want to clench your thighs together, but he holds you in place, lips trailing down your throat. "Say it."

You barely manage to gasp out a needy "yes" before he rewards you with a deep stroke that has you trembling beneath him. His chuckle is dark, satisfied, as he continues his slow, deliberate pace, drawing every reaction from you with precise, practiced movements.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in as the tension coils tight within you. You clench around his fingers, feeling the start of a wave of euphoria when he pulls his hand away, and a desperate, needy noise escapes you.

“Be patient,” he chastises, and you resist the urge to swear when he slides your pants down further, his fingers trail teasingly against your bare skin before he shifts downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh.

A strangled moan escapes your lips as his mouth finds you, his tongue stroking in slow, deliberate patterns that have your fingers twisting in his hair, your thighs trembling around him.

Zayne works you open with his mouth and fingers, his name falling from your lips in breathless gasps as he devours you with unrelenting focus.

“That’s it, love.” The roughness of his voice was so damn sexy. “Be a good girl, and come for me.”

That finally did it.

When you finally shatter, he groans against you, holding you in place as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

As you pant, still trembling, he wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes locked onto you with something dangerously intent.

Before you can catch your breath, he’s already reaching for his belt, a wicked smirk playing at his lips. "We’re not done yet, love. You started this."

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 16 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

A/N: Fair warning there might be a couple of typos and shit in this part because I’m too tired to proofread properly

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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The door of the theater falls shut behind us with a loud bang and I can’t stop myself from flinching ever so slightly.

Sam squeezes my hand and I squeeze back, letting my eyes roam around the room.

Nothing’s changed since the last time we were here and I cringe once again at the sight of the mannequins on the stage dressed in the old Ghostface cloaks.

It’s eerily quiet, but the knowledge that backup is ready to jump in and help us when Kirby gives them a signal brings me some sense of peace.

When Sam and I came out of the bathroom earlier Bailey had left to go to the station which gave me the chance to pull Kirby aside and tell her about what we figured out while Sam distracted the others, especially Ethan who kept looking at me with his big doe eyes.

She believed me instantly and we quickly came to the conclusion that in order to end this we either have to kill Bailey, Quinn, and Ethan, or get a confession out of them, so they go to prison for the rest of their lives.

I opted for the latter because I’m sick of people dying, but we agreed that should anything go wrong, we will kill them.

We also agreed that the less people are involved the better, so Kirby called the hospital Anika is at and convinced them to call Mindy in Anika’s name, saying she wanted to see her girlfriend.

We tried to come up with a plan to get Chad out of the way as well, but nothing came to mind, which is why he’s here with us now.

Danny’s also here, but we left him outside under the guise of needing someone to call for help in case something goes wrong.

He doesn’t know that the FBI is already stationed nearby, waiting to be called in by Kirby.

Sam, Kirby, and I are the only ones who know and even though I wanted to tell Tara and Chad, I never got the chance because we were never alone.

At first, Danny and Ethan were with us, and then it was just Danny because I managed to prevent Ethan from getting on the same subway as us by shoving a stranger in his way.

I’m sure he’ll be here soon though, just like Bailey who’s in on the “plan”.

We told him we wanted to trap Ghostface and execute him which he immediately agreed to since he doesn’t know we know about him yet.

He was super supportive and even told us to use public transport to avoid getting targeted, and if I didn’t know better I would have actually believed that he was concerned.

I still don’t know why he, Quinn, and Ethan are doing all this, but I guess we’ll find out sooner.

“I cleared the whole place before you got here,” Kirby says, turning to face us. “This—“ she nods her head at the door we just came in through, “—is the only way in or out.”

“What about weapons?” Sam asks, her hand still in mine.

Tara is holding onto Chad’s arm, nodding along to what Sam just asked.

“One gun and I hold onto it,” Kirby lies. She slipped me a knife earlier when I told her about what we found out.

It’s tucked into the waistband of my pants, hidden by my sweater, and not even Sam knows about it.

I know right now would probably be a good time to come clean and tell Chad and Tara everything we know (and tell Sam about the knife), but we can’t be sure that this place isn’t bugged.

“I’m the only one with a badge, so that’s the way it’s going to be,” Kirby says when the others look at her in disbelief. “We’re safe here,” she adds and even though I know the FBI is on standby outside, I’m still not entirely convinced. There’s three Ghostfaces and four of us, and they’re all armed.

This is going to be fun. . .

I wish we’d had more time to plan, because this is all super reckless, but we can’t risk someone else getting hurt, so it will have to do.

The others look skeptical, too, but no one voices their concerns and a moment later Sam’s phone rings. She disconnects our hands and pulls it out of her pocket, her eyebrows furrowing when she sees that it’s Mindy who’s calling her.

She glances at me and I dip my chin, wordlessly telling her to answer it.

“Mindy? Hey, you okay?” she says. She walks off in search of better reception and I let her be, turning to Chad and Tara who are eyeing the glass display cases with disgust while Kirby makes her own way through the theater, looking at everything with her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sprout. . . Chad,” I say quietly, approaching them. They turn with furrowed eyebrows and smile weakly when they see me.

“Y/N.” Chad exhales sharply and I squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“You guys okay?” I ask.

Tara shakes her head and hugs me while Chad grimaces. “Not really,” she whispers. “I’m scared.”

I sigh and hold her closer. “Yeah, me too.”

“Same. . .” Chad watches us with a forlorn look and I chuckle softly before pulling him into the hug as well.

“You’ll be okay. Both of you, I promise.” I press a kiss to the top of Tara’s head and nudge Chad.

They both shudder and tighten the hug before my phone rings and I’m forced to pull away.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I pull it out of my pocket, but then the sight of Paige’s name flashing across the screen makes me relax again.

It’s not Ghostface, Y/N. Calm down.

“Paige, hey. Everything okay? Are you in the city yet?”

Despite the situation, Paige laughs softly. “Yes, everything’s fine. I’m not in the city yet, I still have two hours to go. I’m just calling to tell you that the hospital called.”

The tentative smile that pulled at my lips just a second ago vanishes and I tighten my grip on the phone. “A-and?”

“Lee’s still in surgery, but he’s stable.”

Tears prick at my eyes and I spin around to avoid Tara’s and Chad’s concerned looks. “Okay, that’s good. That’s really good.”

I swallow thickly to get rid of the growing lump in my throat and Paige sighs on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it is. . . so what about you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but—“

The lights turn off and the call disconnects. A scream pierces through the silent theater and I whirl around.

Tara.

She and Chad seem to be unharmed, but they’re tripping over their feet, trying to get away from something, of rather, someone.

It’s hard to make out what’s happening in the dark, but even before a homemade Stab movie gets projected onto the white curtains that have been lowered in front of the stage, I know that Ghostface is here.

Baile, Ethan and Quinn are here, right now, and we didn’t see it coming.

How didn’t we know? There’s only one entrance and we would have heard them come in. Right?

But what if Kirby overlooked a different entrance? What if she didn’t search the place probably?

Speaking of Kirby, my blood runs cold when my eyes land on her. Her face is covered in blood, and it looks like her nose is broken, but what’s more important is the blood on her shirt from a stab wound in her stomach and the knife pressed against her neck by Ghostface, standing behind her.

Ethan or Quinn. . . Bailey is taller.

“Fuck.” I rush to pull Tara and Chad behind me, feeling anger rising in the pit of my stomach when Ghostface tilts his head mockingly.

This is not how this was supposed to go down. Kirby was supposed to stay hidden, she was supposed to observe and call for backup.

Movement out of the corner of my eye makes my heart skip a beat, but when I turn my head, there’s nothing there.

A second later though I feel a presence on my other side, and I whirl around, expecting another Ghostface, but it’s just Sam, wide-eyed and panting.

“They’re here,” she breathes, “They’re—“ she freezes when her eyes land on Kirby, “—Fuck.”

She grabs my arm, and together we shield Chad and Tara while Ghostface continues to watch us wordlessly.

Kirby is deathly still in his hold, despite the obvious pain she’s in because she knows that if she even attempts to reach for her gun or her radio, her throat will be slit.

Some blood is already trickling down her throat because of how hard Ghostface is pressing the knife against her skin, and I shiver, remembering how I was in that same position a year ago.

Every breath, every blink could be your last one, and it’s a horrifying experience.

This is definitely not how I thought this would go. Was I skeptical of our half-assed planned? Yes. Was I expecting it to go off the rails at some point? Also, yes, but I didn’t think shit would be hitting the fan this quickly.

Well, there’s no point in keeping my mouth shut any longer.

“Let her go, Ethan. She has nothing to do with this,” I say lowly. I know it’s him because Quinn is even shorter than her brother and she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to overwhelm Kirby.

Ghostface falters ever so slightly, obviously surprised that I know who’s under the mask, but he doesn’t move or say anything.

“What are you doing?” Tara hisses, tugging on the back of my sweater. “That’s not Ethan.”

Sam squeezes my arm, and I glance over my shoulder for a split second to meet Tara’s eyes. “Yes it is,” I say, forcing myself to sound calm. “He’s behind all of this with Quinn and Bailey.”

“What?” Chad lets out a surprised gasp.

Someone starts clapping slowly behind us and we all whirl around to see Bailey standing there next to another Ghostface.

He’s smiling menacingly and claps one more time before exhaling dramatically. “I knew you’d figure it out. I mean, the way you looked at me at the police station after the bodega. . . I knew you knew something was up.”

I narrow my eyes, but stay quiet.

There’s no way to get a confession out of all of them now, at least not one we can use against them in court because Kirby was supposed to record everything, so we’re moving on to plan b.

Kill them. Kill all of them. Make them pay for what they’ve done to Liam, Gale, Anika, and Brooks, and for how they tired to frame Sam for what happened im Woodsboro.

“Also, Ethan saw you talking to Kirby, so I knew we had to do something sooner rather than later to make you pay.”

“Make us pay?” Sam asks indignantly. “For what?!”

The homemade Stab movie still playing in the background flickers eerily, casting weird shadows over everyone’s face, but especially Bailey’s when it tightens in anger.

He pulls out his gun and waves it around. “For killing my son!”

“Your son?” Tara snaps over my shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s right there.” I gesture at the Ghostface still pressing a knife to Kirby’s neck.

Bailey snorts and the Ghostface next to him takes off his mask.

Quinn.

I knew it, and so did Sam, but Chad and Tara suck in a breath behind me.

Ethan takes off his mask as well, somehow managing to do it without letting go of Kirby.

“Not him!” Quinn snaps with wild eyes before pointing her knife at Sam. “You killed—“

The curly hair, the thick eyebrows. . . E.K. Ethan Kirsch.

“Richie. . .” I say through clenched teeth.

Sam’s hand around my upper arm tightens. “You’re Richie’s family?!”

Tara and Chad shift uncomfortably, but they don’t say a word.

Of course they’re Richie’s family. How did I not see that coming?

They want revenge for what Sam did to him and they started it all by spreading rumors about her online, so when they kill her, kill us, people will just suspect some rando who took matters into his own hands after he found out Sam was the “real” Ghostface.

How fucked up is that. . .

I glance at Kirby while Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn catch the others up on what I just figured out, and nod subtly when her fingers graze against the pocket of her leather jacket.

The radio. . . We need to call for backup. We need to get out of here.

There has to be a second exit we don’t know about because how else would Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn have gotten into the theater unnoticed.

My call with page was disconnected, probably because Bailey turned on some kind of signal jammer, which could mean the radio is also useless, but getting my hands on it and trying to call for back up is worth a try anyway.

I mean, don’t radios and cell phones operate on different frequencies?

All thoughts of frequencies are quickly forgotten when Bailey steps forward and holds out a weathered Ghostface mask.

“This is your father’s, Sam,” he says. “Quinn’s got Stu Macher’s and Ethan has Nacy Loomis’s, your grandmother’s. . .”

“It really runs in your fucking family, doesn’t it,” Ethan pipes up, and the way Sam’s breath hitches next to me makes me want to bash his head in.

This is exactly what she’s afraid of, being like them, and I just know it’s going to take a lot of therapy and a lot of pep talks to make her, once again, believe she really isn’t anything like them

Tara sniffles quietly, and I reach behind me to squeeze her hand when she holds onto the hem of my sweater.

“This is what we’ve been counting down to,” Bailey says, waving the mask around with the same crazy look in his eyes as Quinn. “I’m going to need you to put it on.”

Oh, hell no.

Sam breathes heavily, and for a split second I think she’s going to take it—she’s going to give them what they want after all, but then she lets go of my arm and smacks the mask out of Bailey’s hand.

“Fuck you!” she spits and her confidence fills me with so much pride that I don’t react fast enough when Quinn lunges forward, slicing Sam’s exposed upper arm with her knife.

She was wearing my zip up hoodie earlier, but it’s so hot in here she must have taken it off while on the phone with Mindy, leaving her in only her gray tank top.

Shit, Mindy. . . Why was she calling in the first place? Is she okay?

There’s no way to find out now, so I quickly pull Sam back against me, out of reach of Quinn while she presses a hand to the cut on her arm.

It’s only superficial, but it’s already bleeding pretty badly and it will definitely need stitches.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tara shouts, trying to step out from behind me, but Chad holds her back with an arm around her waist.

“You’re a killer, just like your father, Sam,” Bailey says, pointing an accusing finger at Sam and this time, unlike when Ethan opened his stupid mouth, I don’t hold back.

“No, she’s not you!” I snap, baring my teeth. With her free hand, Sam squeezes my arm around her middle, either to silently thank me for standing up for her or to get me to settle down.

“Yes, she is you motherfucker!” Quinn screams. “She killed Richie like the cold-blooded psycho that she is!”

That’s it!

I let go of Sam and rush forward to tackle Quinn, but Ethan is quick to react. He shoves Kirby aside and jumps in my way before I can get to his sister, stabbing me in the shoulder right below my collar bone—right below the scar on my neck where Amber stabbed me.

“Ah, you fucking little twig,” I exclaim, squaring my shoulders, ready to take him down instead when Sam pulls me back by the back of my sweater.

“No, run!” she shouts and I spin around, knowing she’s right.

Tara and Chad are already weaving through the glass cases, trying to get to the metal door we came in through and Sam and I follow them.

Quinn and Ethan are hot on our heels while Bailey shouts how he knew Sam had to die when he saw the pictures of what she did to Richie.

Everyone who had something to do with his death dies. . . Yeah, no thanks.

Amidst the chaos, the fact that we don’t have the key card to unlock the door dawns on me the moment we’re standing in front of it. Chad tries to pry it open, but it doesn’t budge and when Quinn and Ethan’s footsteps get louder behind us I exclaim, “Forget about it. We’re not getting out this way! There has to be another exit!”

“The roof!” Tara says. “I saw an exit sign leading to the roof behind the seats on the balcony overlooking the stage.”

The roof? Seriously? We’ll be trapped there, too, unless there’s a fire escape.

Anything’s better than this though, I think as Ethan and Quinn skirt around the corner.

“Okay, go left! There’s a staircase up to the balcony!” I shout and we start running again, abandoning the metal door, which could possibly still be our only way out.

Somewhere in the theater a shot gets fired, and I pray to God that Kirby is okay, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as we get to the staircase.

I yank on Sam’s arm and pull her in front of me, and usher her to follow Chad and Tara, but she stops when she notices me freezing on the bottom step.

“What are you doing? Come on!” Urgency seeps into her voice and she tries to drag me up the stairs, but I don’t move.

“No, get to the roof and get help, I’ll buy you some time,” I say, pulling out the knife Kirby gave me.

If Quinn and Ethan want to get to the others, they’ll have to go through me first.

Sam’s eyes widen when they land on the gleaming blade and she shakes her head adamantly. “Fuck no! I’ve left you behind twice now, I’m not doing it again!”

“Sam— I—“ I want to protest, but then Quinn appears with a lazy smile, dragging the blade of her knife along the wall, seemingly in no hurry to get to us any more.

No, no, no. Why’s she so calm. What’s going on?! Where’s Ethan?!

“Y/N!” Sam urges, which snaps me out of my thoughts.

Right. We’ve got to move, no matter how slow Quinn is walking, she’s going to get to us eventually if we don’t move.

“Shit. Yeah, okay! Go, go, go!” I follow Sam up the stairs, taking two of them at a time with my heart pounding in my ears until we get to the top.

Oh damn, we’re higher up than I expected.

It’s at least a ten foot drop from the balcony to the main floor of the theater, but that’s not what I’m worried about.

No, what I’m worried about is Ethan, who’s blocking our path to the roof because he somehow managed to climb the scaffolding connecting the balcony and the main floor to our right.

Tara and Chad are rooted to the ground, staring at him while he simply waves his knife mockingly.

“You really thought you guys could get away?” He laughs and I grab Sam’s hand and spin us around when I hear Quinn coming up the stairs behind us. “Yeah, no. You’re all going to die here tonight and pay for what you did to Richie.”

Tara whimpers and she and Chad take several steps back until their backs are pressed against Sam’s and mine.

The weight of Kirby’s knife in my hand, the one that isn’t holding Sam’s, does nothing to ground me.

We’re caged in and there’s nothing I can do without risking getting hurt because both Ethan and Quinn also have a knife.

“Richie deserved everything he got!” Sam spits next to me. “He was pathetic and killed innocent people just so he could make a new Stab movie! A fucking movie!”

“He loved those movies!” Quinn exclaims angrily and I can’t help but scowl at her.

“That doesn’t excuse what he did! How deluded are you to think that it’s okay to kill people just so you can make a movie?!”

“Shut up!” Ethan shouts and even though I can’t see him, I know he’s absolutely livid right now.

I don’t shut up though. Not only because I can’t stop myself from going on, but because I need to get him to snap and move so we can get to the roof.

“I mean, how fucked up is it that your dad brainwashed you into avenging your brother’s death? He’s a grown ass man and he’s using his kids to do his bidding. Really gets you thinking about who the favorite child is, or was in this case, doesn’t it?”

Quinn’s face contorts into a grimace of rage and I can see both her and Ethan lunging at us from miles away, so I act before they can.

I let go of Sam’s hand and pick up a discarded scaffolding pipe, shoving it into Chad’s hands before turning back around and kicking the side of Quinn’s knee when she comes at us.

She cries out in pain and goes down, and I spin around just in time to see Chad knocking the knife out of Ethan’s hand with the pipe.

“You piece of shit, you know nothing about us!” Ethan shouts, scrambling to pick the knife back up, but Chad is one step ahead of him.

He kicks the knife under the seats before stepping to the side so Tara can knee him in the face, knocking him out.

Yeah, get his ass, Sprout!

Quinn wails furiously and jumps to her feet, her rage obviously numbing the pain in her knee. She tightens the grip she has on her knife and lunges at Sam who raises her arms defensively.

“Oh no you don’t!” I growl, darting forward and catching her wrist mid-strike. I twist it so the knife is now pointing at her and watch in horror as she runs straight into it, stabbing herself in the throat because she can’t stop her advance in time.

Her eyes widen, and she chokes on her own blood for a moment before Sam kicks her in the stomach, forcing her to let go of the knife and fall backward.

She twitches helplessly, coughing and clawing at her own throat for what feels like hours before finally going deathly still.

“Good fucking riddance,” I spit and Sam nods, seemingly in a daze with her eyes trained on Quinn’s dead body until I grab her hand and pull her away. “Let’s go!”

Tara and Chad have already left and I can only hope that they made it to the roof okay. Where Kirby and Bailey are, I have no idea, but the theater’s been deathly quiet since that gunshots I heard earlier.

Please let that have been Kirby shooting Bailey and nod the other way around.

“We need to call for back—“ My words get stuck in my throat when Sam lets out a surprised cry behind me. Her hand lets go of mine and I hear her knife clatter against the ground before I whirl around to see that she’s tripped over something.

No, not something, someone. And that someone is Ethan who’s got his hand wrapped around her ankle.

“Son of a bitch!” Sam seethes and kicks him in the shoulder, which makes him let go of her, but when they both jump to their feet, my heart drops at the sight of him holding the knife she just dropped.

“You’re not going anywhere!” He slashes the knife through the air, missing Sam’s throat by an inch which makes me see red.

I yank Sam behind me, ignoring the way my back stings because of it, and tackle him.

He grunts when we go down and I feel him dragging the knife across my side, but all I can focus on is the sound of Sam’s voice, crying out my name, and the sensation of falling.

Falling, and falling, and falling.

“Y/N!”

I look up and it’s only when I see Sam bent over the railing of the balcony with a bewildered look in her eyes and an outstretched arm that I realize Ethan and I went overt the edge.

No. This was not supposed to happen.

I want to reach out and grab her hand, but it’s too late. I’m falling and before I know it, everything goes black.

I can’t have been out for too long, because when I come to again, everything is quiet.

There’s no shouting, there’s no police and I’m still in the theater, staring up at the blurry outline of the balcony and the dark ceiling.

Sam is nowhere in sight, but when I turn my head I see Ethan right next to me, sprawled on the ground amidst the glass shards of the display case he fell on.

Black dots are dancing in my vision, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I pass out again, but I know for a fact that he’s dead.

His neck is bent at an unnatural angle and his lifeless eyes are staring at me. His lips and chin are covered in blood from when Tara broke his nose with her knee and there are tiny glass shards sticking out of his cheek and forehead.

That’s two for two, I guess. . .

I avert my eyes and go to sit up to find Sam and the others, only to feel my heart drop when I find that I can’t move.

No. Not again.

I try again, willing every muscle in my body to help me sit up, but it doesn’t work.

All I can do is turn my head, and even that is difficult now that I think about it.

It’s like trying to run in a dream, and before I can stop it, a desperate whimper slips past my lips.

Not again. Please, not again.

The memory of Leroy’s face— the firefighter who pulled me out of my parents car after the accident— makes its way to the front of my mind and when I close my eyes I see his sparkling blue eyes above me.

No, not again. Not again. . .

“Y/N!”

My eyes fly open and I look up. Leroy’s blue eyes swim in and out of focus before they’re replaced by dark brown ones.

Sam.

She’s kneeling over me and has her hands on the side of my head.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. What did you do?!,” she whispers frantically, her eyes darting between mine.

I go to say something, but she shushes me by pressing a finger against my lips. “Don’t answer that. Save your strength. Just stay awake, okay, keep looking at me.”

I don’t know why’s she’s telling me to stay awake, but then I feel the almost irresistible pull of sleep tugging on my insides.

My eyes flutter, but I can’t in good conscience rest until I know it’s over— until I know that everyone’s okay.

“T-Tara. . . Chad,” I whisper, my eyes momentarily focusing on the pendant of Sam’s necklace. It twinkles in the low light and fills me with an indescribable warmth, knowing that she hasn’t taken the necklace off since I’ve given it to her. It also somehow chases away the panic that threatened to wash over me just a moment ago when I realized I couldn’t move.

“They’re okay,” Sam says, her voice breaking which makes me look at her again. Her eyes are filled with tears and her bottom lip is quivering the same way it did when I collapsed at the hospital a year ago. “They’re both okay. Kirby’s okay, too.”

I exhale shakily and blink back my own tears. “So, it’s over?”

Sam nods, running her thumbs over my cheek. “It is and help is on the way, so try to stay awake, okay? I know you’re tired, and you’re in a lot of pain because you took quite a fall, but you have to stay awake.“

“Quite a fall” feels like an understatement, but I don’t comment on it. I just shake my head and sigh quietly.

“‘M not in pain,” I slur, feeling my consciousness slipping away again.

It’s true, I’m not in pain. I just can’t move, but that’s okay because I know everyone else is okay. They’re all going to be okay, including Gale and Liam.

“What do you mean you’re not in pain? You just fell ten feet! How can you not be in pain?” Sam grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. I can’t feel it, but I see her doing it. I also see her furrowing her eyebrows when my hand stays limp before realization dawns on her.

“Y/N. . .” Tears roll down her face and I want nothing more but to reach up and wipe them away, but I can’t. “You’re— You’re—“

“‘S okay,” I whisper, trying my best to smile. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not, you’re not,” she hiccups and lets go of my hand again to cradle my head and the back of my neck just as my eyes begin to flutter. “Hey, keep your eyes open! You hear me, Y/N?! Keep your eyes open!”

But I’m so tired and she’s here. She’s finally here after everything that’s happened.

“Sam?”

Tara’s voice makes Sam look up and I take that as my chance to close my eyes.

Just for a little bit, I tell myself, but as soon as my eyes close, darkness washes over me.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

They’re all okay.

She’s here.

_______________________________________________

Before you come for me I just want to say that—spoiler alert—we’re going to be okay!

This part was a pain to write, but it’s done and I can rest now.

Only one more part to go!

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

.°⋆🖇₊˚ෆ synopsis: you’ve been visiting doctor nanami regularly under the pretense of needing treatment, but your lingering presence in his office starts to shift into something more. as flirtation deepens into real connection, nanami struggles to keep his distance, even though he can’t deny the pull he feels toward you.

₊˚ෆ teddy’s notes: GUYSSS ITS FINALLY HEREE!!! ive been working on this for a while now, thus is a love letter to nanami from me because ugh he is a dream. its just that ive been practicing in hospitals a lot and there was not enough beautiful male doctors so ive been daydreaming about doctor nanami and started writing it about 2 months ago. it took a long time because i was having a hard time writing, honestly. anyways! enjoyyy <33

₊˚ෆ contains: 4697 words, doctor! nanami, gender neutral reader, minor descriptions of injuries, a lot of nanami’s thoughts and internal conflicts, and maybe slow burn-ish? dunno, its just a silly one shot. artist credited in the banner!!

the hospital was quieter than usual. the hum of fluorescent lights above, the distant chatter of the staff—everything seemed muted as nanami kento walked down the sterile corridor. he had long learned to appreciate the calm of late-night shifts. in his world, filled with chaos and unpredictability, the silence was a reprieve.

when he walked into the examination room, clipboard in hand, he didn’t expect anything unusual. it was supposed to be just another routine visit, another night spent stitching up cuts or treating minor injuries. he hadn’t expected to be confronted with you.

you were sitting on the examination table, your hand bandaged up, looking like you had a thousand other places you’d rather be. nanami’s eyes immediately flicked to the injury. a small, superficial cut. barely worth a second glance. but there was something about you—something that felt out of place in the typical ebb and flow of hospital life.

when your eyes met his, nanami didn’t know why he lingered on your face. there was a softness in your gaze, an energy that seemed to pull him in. it wasn’t just the usual patient—uninjured, pretending to be hurt. no, you were different. he could see it in the way you carried yourself, in the subtle way your lips curved upward when he spoke.

“i understand you’ve injured yourself?” he asked, his voice steady and professional, but there was an edge to it. he was trying to suppress whatever curiosity had sparked in him the moment he laid eyes on you.

you didn’t seem fazed by the sterile setting, or his no-nonsense demeanor. instead, you smiled faintly, a little sheepish as you held out your hand, showing him the tiny cut that barely needed attention.

“it’s nothing, really. just a scrape,” you said, and he raised an eyebrow, assessing the injury once more. it was minor—nothing to worry about—but your insistence made it seem like something else was going on.

“hmm.” he bent closer, his fingers brushing against your hand as he cleaned the wound with a swift and practiced motion. his eyes flickered over the bandage, then met yours again. “it’s not serious. but we’ll clean it up anyway.”

he didn’t expect it to happen, but he felt a small ripple of something within him as he worked. it wasn’t just the touch, though that was part of it. it was something in the way you were watching him, your gaze unwavering, full of quiet intensity. he almost forgot for a moment why he was here. he could hear your breath, slow and steady, almost like the air around you had shifted.

when he finished, he didn’t say much—just the usual instructions, the reminder to keep it clean, change the bandage. but there was something in the air between the two of you that lingered after he stepped back.

you were still looking at him, a faint smile on your lips, like there was something unspoken. something that made his heart skip just a little.

“thanks.” you said, your voice soft. too soft.

nanami couldn’t explain it, but as you spoke those words, he couldn’t help the thought that had started to form in his mind: why did you feel familiar? it was a strange thought, one he quickly dismissed.

before he could say anything, you were gone, slipping out of the room without another word, leaving nanami to stare after you. there was a lingering feeling, something unidentifiable, that stayed with him long after you had left the room.

—

he’d spent the last few years working here, and by now, he was used to the quiet rhythm of night shifts. routine was something he had long ago embraced, finding comfort in the predictable flow of patients and paperwork. but then came you—the one anomaly in his perfectly balanced life.

the first time you returned, nanami had thought little of it. patients came and went, most of them with complaints so trivial that it barely warranted attention. but when you stepped through the door again, with that same half-apologetic smile, that same determined gleam in your eyes, something in him shifted. he wasn’t sure what it was yet, but there was a curiosity brewing inside him that he couldn’t shake.

“back again, i see,” he said, his voice low, controlled. he glanced at the bandage on your hand from the previous week. the sight of it reminded him of how gentle he had been with you—how soft his touch had felt compared to the usual brusque motions he used with patients.

this time, you were a little more direct. “well, you know me,” you said, holding your arm out like it was offering up some tragic tale. “i can’t seem to keep my balance lately. bumped into the corner of a table.” you made a show of wincing as though it was a severe injury, but the way your eyes gleamed suggested otherwise.

nanami raised an eyebrow. another injury? he couldn’t help but feel a small, skeptical tug in his chest. but, as always, he hid it behind the professionalism he was known for. his gaze dropped to your arm, and as his fingers gently pressed against the bruise, he felt the subtle tension that always seemed to be there when you were around. it wasn’t just the touch—though that was certainly part of it. it was the way you looked at him. your eyes always lingered just a little longer than necessary, and nanami couldn’t ignore how it made his heart flutter.

he adjusted his glasses, his fingers still lightly brushing over the bruise. “it’s minor,” he said, his voice a little less dismissive than usual. “you’re fine. just take it easy for a couple of days.”

you were clearly enjoying the attention, despite the trivial nature of the injury. “i suppose i’ll just have to rest,” you said, a playful lilt in your voice. “though, i don’t know how i’m going to manage without your expert care.”

the compliment wasn’t lost on him. it wasn’t that nanami couldn’t handle the flirtation—it was that it made him feel something he wasn’t used to. something soft. he let out a quiet sigh and gave you a side glance. “you’re impossible.”

but the words didn’t have their usual bite. instead, there was a trace of amusement in his tone, an unexpected crack in his professional armor. and you noticed it. of course, you did.

—

the next week, you were back again. this time, with a slightly more elaborate tale about twisting your ankle while jogging. he didn’t even bother asking if it was true—he already knew. it was another excuse. another reason for you to seek him out.

but, as usual, nanami couldn’t bring himself to push you away. he couldn’t explain it. there was something magnetic about you—something that kept drawing him in no matter how many times you made up some new injury. maybe it was the way you looked at him when you walked into the room, like you were waiting for him to see through the act. maybe it was how you teased him so effortlessly, as though you knew exactly what buttons to push to get under his skin.

this time, you’d pulled a muscle in your leg. the bruise on your ankle wasn’t as bad as you claimed, but you made sure to exaggerate the tenderness as you sat down on the exam table.

“do you need help getting up?” nanami asked, though he had already seen you walk in with ease, so he knew it wasn’t as bad as you made it sound.

you tilted your head, your smile a little more mischievous. “only if you’ll carry me.”

nanami blinked, the words catching him off guard. but he couldn’t hide the slight shift in his expression—just a subtle tightening around his jaw, an almost imperceptible flush in his cheeks.

you were relentless, weren’t you?

he cleared his throat. “i’m not in the habit of carrying patients,” he said, though even to his own ears, his voice lacked the usual firmness.

“i bet you’d make an exception for me,” you replied, your smile only deepening as you leaned back, clearly enjoying the effect your words had on him. there was a glint of something playful—and yet, something deeper—in your gaze.

for a moment, nanami didn’t know how to respond. he wasn’t accustomed to this. you weren’t just another flirtatious patient; you were different. you’d burrowed your way into his thoughts, disrupted his routine in a way he couldn’t explain.

with a soft sigh, nanami knelt in front of you, his hands firm but gentle as he took your ankle in his grip. you met his gaze directly, not backing down. and why should you?

he started to work, massaging the muscle in your leg, his movements slow and methodical. but even as his hands worked, a part of him was aware of the connection that had formed between the two of you. it wasn’t just the act of caring for you—it was something deeper. something unspoken, but there, just under the surface.

“i’m not going to keep letting you get away with this,” he muttered under his breath. but you heard it, of course, and it made you smile.

“you’re not supposed to keep me out of here,” you said teasingly, leaning back slightly, still watching him with that knowing look. “i think you secretly enjoy our time together.”

nanami stopped for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, something flickering between you. he let out a quiet breath, resisting the pull you had on him. “you’re a handful,” he said, but there was warmth in his voice now, something he hadn’t intended to let slip.

—

over the weeks, it became harder to ignore the tension that had grown between you two. nanami’s professional mask remained intact most of the time, but he couldn’t help but let it slip more often when you were around. your teasing had evolved into something deeper—flirtation wrapped in softness, words said with intention. you began to linger a little longer after your so-called “injuries” had been treated, finding ways to stay near him, just to be in the same space.

one evening, as he was finishing up his shift, nanami found himself unexpectedly drawn to your presence in a way that he hadn’t anticipated. you were sitting in his office, your legs crossed, looking completely at ease as though you belonged there.

“you’re here again,” he said, though there was no surprise in his voice anymore. he had come to expect it.

you glanced up from your phone, meeting his gaze with that easy smile that never failed to catch him off guard. “can’t stay away from you.”

he couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, a sound that surprised even him. you really are impossible, he thought. but damn if you don’t make things interesting.

you didn’t say anything else, but your presence was enough. the room felt charged, like something was hanging in the air between you both. nanami shifted slightly, adjusting his glasses. he wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion from his shift or the way you made him feel, but tonight, he felt something he hadn’t before—a pull toward you that he couldn’t deny.

when you stood to leave, you reached out, placing your hand on his arm just for a moment. the touch was light, but it sent a ripple through him. his breath caught in his throat as he glanced at you. your face was serious, no longer playful.

“i’ll be back next week,” you said, your voice steady, almost as if it was a promise.

before he could respond, you were gone.

—

the days between your visits had always felt like routine to nanami—filled with the usual responsibilities, patients, paperwork, and the monotony of hospital life. but ever since you’d entered his world, there was a subtle shift in his thoughts. your presence had become a part of his daily rhythm, even when you weren’t physically there.

he found himself wondering, during his quiet moments between patients, about your smile, the way you always seemed to know how to tease him just right, how you made him feel something he hadn’t experienced in a long time: disarmed. even now, in the midst of yet another late-night shift, he couldn’t stop thinking about the touch of your hand on his arm—the warmth of it lingering long after you’d left.

and that was when he realized something. he didn’t want you to stop coming. there, he’d said it to himself, even if he wasn’t willing to say it out loud just yet.

—

nanami was still processing his thoughts from the last time you’d left, still unsure of how much of it was just you—and how much was his own reaction to you. but when he saw you walk through the door the next week, with a familiar glint in your eye and that same teasing smile, he knew exactly what was happening.

you didn’t waste time this time—there was no exaggerated tale of injury. instead, you came straight to the point, your eyes mischievous as you stood before him. “i didn’t want to be too dramatic today, but…”

nanami glanced up from his paperwork, his brows furrowing slightly. “but?”

you didn’t say anything for a moment. instead, you stepped closer, placing your hand on his desk—just close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from your skin. “i was hoping you might have time for me,” you said softly, voice quiet and seductive, a slight catch to it as if you weren’t entirely sure of his response. it was almost vulnerable in a way that took him by surprise.

for a heartbeat, nanami couldn’t say anything. his heart pounded in his chest as you stood there, so close to him that he could smell the soft fragrance of your perfume, feel the heat coming off your skin. he knew you weren’t here for an injury this time—not really. you had found your way back to him in a way that felt almost too intimate.

he cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses nervously. “i’m not sure what you expect from me, but if you’re here for another injury…”

you shook your head, a teasing smile spreading across your face. “no injuries today, dr. nanami. just… a little company.”

the quiet weight of your words hung between you two. you were persistent, and while nanami had originally assumed it was some harmless flirtation, something had shifted. he couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing you, spending time with you, had become something he secretly looked forward to.

he sighed, leaning back in his chair, and studied you for a long moment. he couldn’t quite put into words the feeling he had when you were around. maybe it was the way you made him feel seen, or the way you slowly peeled away his layers with every encounter. whatever it was, nanami knew he was walking a dangerous line, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“alright,” he said, voice low and resigned, but there was a soft undercurrent to it. “i’ll make time for you, then.”

you smiled, that playful glint in your eyes flickering with satisfaction. “thank you, kento,” you whispered, the softness in your voice almost like a secret only the two of you shared.

—

over the following weeks, the line between patient and something more blurred further. the flirtation, once lighthearted and innocent, had evolved into something more serious, something more significant. you found reasons to spend time with nanami not just for medical attention but for the connection between the two of you that had been quietly simmering under the surface.

sometimes, you’d linger in his office after your injuries had been treated, talking about your day, your life, or just sharing a quiet moment together. the conversations started to stretch longer, more intimate, and nanami noticed that he began to enjoy the sound of your voice. he began to learn little things about you—things that made his heart stir. your laugh, the way you crinkled your nose when something amused you, the soft hum you made when you were thinking.

he learned that you were always too hard on yourself, that you’d been through a lot in your life, but never let it show. he noticed the vulnerability in the way you’d look at him sometimes, as though you were waiting for him to notice. and for once, nanami didn’t feel the need to maintain his distance. he didn’t want to push you away.

but every time you flirted with him, he remained cautiously reserved, not quite allowing himself to fully lean into it. there was always a part of him that held back—the part that reminded him this wasn’t a good idea. he wasn’t supposed to fall for patients. but damn it, you made it impossible not to.

one evening, you came in as usual, this time with a strained smile on your face. “no injuries today,” you said, as though that was a small victory. “i just wanted to talk. if you have the time, of course.”

nanami glanced up from the paperwork he was working on. for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel frustrated by the interruption. he felt… relieved, even. you weren’t here for an injury. you were just here to be with him.

“of course,” he said quietly, setting his papers aside. his gaze softened as he met your eyes. this is what i’ve been waiting for, he realized—this unspoken connection, these moments where it wasn’t about injuries or excuses. it was about the two of you.

you took a seat in the chair across from him, your gaze unwavering as you leaned forward slightly, the intensity in your eyes making his pulse quicken. “you know, i’ve been thinking about something.”

nanami raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “what about?”

your lips curved into a small, secretive smile, and you didn’t immediately answer. instead, you simply reached out, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead in an unexpectedly intimate gesture.

“you’re always so serious, nanami,” you said softly, the tenderness in your voice disarming him. “i think you should smile more.”

the simplicity of your words struck him in a way he hadn’t expected. he didn’t know why, but hearing you say that made something inside him shift. the tension he’d been carrying for weeks—the anxiety about getting too close to you—began to loosen.

nanami didn’t know how to respond at first. he was always so reserved, so careful about everything, but when he met your eyes again, there was an openness there that hadn’t been there before. he allowed himself a small smile, just for you.

“i’ll try,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

you leaned forward a little, your eyes bright. “good. because i’d like to see it more often.”

and with that, nanami realized the truth. he wanted to see more of you, too. more than just a patient. more than just the soft teasing and gentle flirtation. he wanted something real, something that neither of you had admitted yet, but that was undeniably there.

—

the surgery had been long and exhausting—hours spent under harsh, fluorescent lights, his focus sharp as he assisted the lead surgeon with meticulous care. it was the kind of work nanami was used to—demanding, grueling, but also strangely satisfying in its precision. his hands ached, his body was stiff, and his mind begged for rest as he made his way back to his office in the quiet hours of the night.

he wasn’t expecting much. just the usual—silence, paperwork he didn’t want to deal with, and perhaps, if he were lucky, a cup of tea from the breakroom. what he wasn’t expecting was you.

at first, he didn’t notice you. his office was dimly lit, the desk lamp casting soft shadows across the room. he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of his chair, and ran a hand through his hair, loosening his tie. his mind was already moving ahead—thinking of the report he needed to finish and the notes he had to add to the patient’s chart.

then he heard it: the soft, steady sound of breathing. his movements stilled. slowly, he turned toward the examination table, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. and there you were, lying curled up on the table, your chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm, your head resting on your folded arms.

for a moment, nanami simply stood there, frozen in the doorway. his heart gave a strange, unfamiliar lurch in his chest, an ache spreading through him that he couldn’t quite name.

you waited for me.

the thought startled him. he wasn’t sure if it was disbelief or something deeper, something warmer, that coursed through him at the realization. he knew you were bold—your shameless flirting over the past few weeks had proven that—but this? waiting for him after hours, in his office, without even an excuse of an injury to justify your presence? it was reckless, but also… endearing.

his steps were quiet as he approached you, his gaze softening despite himself. you looked so peaceful in sleep, the sharpness of your wit replaced by a vulnerability he wasn’t used to seeing. his fingers twitched at his side, tempted to brush away the strand of hair that had fallen across your face. he resisted, though the thought lingered.

he stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. his rational mind told him to wake you gently, to send you on your way, to maintain the boundaries he’d worked so hard to uphold. but something inside him—the part he’d been suppressing for weeks—kept him rooted in place.

it wasn’t just your presence that struck him. it was what it represented. you stayed. for me.

nanami finally allowed himself to exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. he leaned forward, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the table, and called your name softly.

your eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused at first. when they landed on him, a slow, sleepy smile spread across your lips.

“nanami…” you murmured, your voice thick with drowsiness.

his chest tightened at the sound of his name on your lips. he cleared his throat, forcing himself to adopt his usual professional tone. “what are you doing here? you shouldn’t be—”

“i waited for you,” you interrupted, sitting up slowly. you stretched your arms, blinking as if trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “i just… wanted to see you.”

your words hit him harder than they should have. he didn’t respond right away, his mind caught between the rational urge to lecture you and the growing warmth spreading through his chest.

“you shouldn’t have waited,” he said finally, his tone softer than he intended. “it’s late, and you should be resting.”

you smiled again, this time wider, the teasing glint he’d grown used to returning to your eyes. “i couldn’t rest. not until i saw you.”

nanami felt his resolve cracking, the careful walls he’d built around himself beginning to crumble under your gaze. he tried to focus on the clinical details—the faint redness in your cheeks from sleeping on your arm, the way your fingers fidgeted slightly against the edge of the table. but all of it only made you more real, more tangible, and it was becoming harder to maintain the distance he’d fought so hard to keep.

“you…” he hesitated, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“why not?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “it’s the truth. i like being around you, nanami. is that so bad?”

his breath hitched. he wanted to say yes—that it was bad, that it was unprofessional, that it was crossing a line he wasn’t supposed to cross. but the words wouldn’t come.

instead, he found himself stepping closer, the space between you shrinking until he could see every detail of your face—the way your eyes searched his, the way your lips parted slightly as if waiting for him to speak.

“it’s not bad,” he said finally, his voice low, almost like he was admitting something to himself. “but… it’s complicated.”

you smiled softly, undeterred. “complicated doesn’t scare me.”

nanami exhaled, his gaze dropping for a moment as though weighing his next words carefully. “it should,” he murmured, the faintest crack of vulnerability slipping into his tone. “i don’t know if i can give you what you’re looking for.”

you didn’t hesitate. “what if i’m not looking for anything specific? what if i just… want you?”

the words struck him like a blow, harder than he anticipated. his breath hitched as he raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for the usual teasing glint in your gaze. but there was none this time—no hint of mischief or lighthearted charm. only sincerity.

he swallowed hard. you made it sound so simple, so easy, as if he weren’t a man weighed down by his own doubts, his own careful walls. he’d spent weeks trying to convince himself that this was a passing infatuation, something fleeting on your part. but now, faced with the raw honesty in your voice, he couldn’t pretend anymore.

“i…” he started, his voice faltering. he looked away, his jaw tightening as he tried to collect himself. “you don’t understand how difficult i can be. i’m set in my ways. i work late hours. i’m not the type of man to make grand gestures or say the right things.”

“i don’t need grand gestures,” you said, your tone quiet but firm. “and i like the way you are—your quiet, your seriousness, your care.” you hesitated for a moment, your expression softening as you added, “nanami, i know what i’m saying. i’m not scared of who you are.”

something inside him gave way, the weight of your words pressing against the walls he’d built around his heart. for the first time in years, he felt seen—not just for what he could do, not just for the roles he fulfilled, but for the man beneath it all.

his hand moved almost unconsciously, reaching out to yours. when his fingers brushed against yours, he felt the faintest tremor in his chest, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

“i don’t deserve this,” he said softly, almost as if to himself.

your fingers curled around his, steady and sure. “you do.”

and that was it. the last thread of resistance snapped. he stepped closer, his free hand rising to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. his gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“i’m not good at this,” he warned, his voice low, rough with emotion.

“then let me show you how,” you whispered, your voice a promise and a plea all at once.

before he could second-guess himself, nanami closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deliberate and slow, but no less fervent. his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you closer as if he were afraid you might slip away.

you kissed him back with equal intensity, your hands clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself. the quiet of the room was broken only by the sound of your breathing, the world narrowing down to the press of his lips against yours and the warmth of his touch.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. “this… this scares me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw. “then let’s be scared together.”

a quiet laugh escaped him, a rare, unguarded sound that softened the lines of his face. and for the first time in what felt like forever, nanami allowed himself to let go of the doubt, the fear, and the weight of his own expectations.

because in this moment, with you in his arms, it didn’t feel so complicated after all.

thank you for reading this! likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

[voxslays]

IF I DIE YOUNG — HWANG IN-HO

You were doing fine. In-ho had just gotten laid off from his job, but he was searching for a new one, and you were doing fine. Until your body started having issues. It started small—so small in fact, that is was barely even noticeable until it was too late.

One day, while sitting in your shared home, you felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. In-ho immediately rushed you to the hospital. When you two arrived, the doctors told you about your liver issues. But worst of all? You were pregnant. If you died, your husband wouldn’t only lose you, he would lose the baby too…

In-ho couldn’t bear to lose you and the baby, so he took out loan after loan, which quickly piled up into debt. A debt he could never repay. One day, he was approached by a man on the street, carrying a breifcase, who asked to play a game of ddakji. When he won, he was given a golden card with shapes on the front, and a phone number on the back.

When he was taken to the games, he had only one goal in mind—to save you and your unborn child, and surprisingly, In-ho won. When he finally got back to Seoul, your new baby was born, but you were slowly dying.

In-ho quickly payed for your treatments, and miraculously you came out alive. Yet, Oh Il-nam wasn’t done with your husband quite yet. One rainy day, he called upon your husband and asked him to be the next frontman—it turns out he was quite impressed with his performance and perseverance.

And the rest is history. Every year, you leave your son with his nanny as you and your husband go to the island for a few days to watch over the games. You always feel a little queasy, but luckily, your ever doting husband, In-ho, is there to protect you.

[itadores]

note: hi friends <3 l&ds has me in a chokehold rn

pairing: zayne x gn!reader

word count: 1k

tags: gender neutral reader, alcohol / alcohol intoxication, reader can fit into zayne’s coat, reader isn't explicitly mc

You exit the nightclub with a stumble. Goosebumps erupt all over your exposed skin, but the cool air is a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of the crowd of sweaty bodies that you've just escaped. You suck in a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment, and bask in the sensation of the crisp air against your heated skin. As much as clubbing with your friends is a fun affair, it feels nice to be free from the lively environment. The chatter of your friends nearby prompts you to open your eyes once more.

"It's so cold out," one of your friends complains, louder than necessary due to the alcohol in her system. Her arms are tightly folded across her body as she shivers. She murmurs her thanks to one of your other friends as they take it upon themselves to rub their hands up and down her bare arms to create some warmth. Her attention then turns to you. "Is your boyfriend here yet?" she whines.

"Hold on, let me see where he is." You slip your phone out of your pocket, checking to see if you've received any new messages. It takes you a moment to register what the words swimming on the screen are saying as you read over the latest text you’ve gotten from your boyfriend. You send a quick and hopefully coherent reply back to him before you put your phone back in its place. "He should be here any minute now. Let's go wait by the curb, so he can see us."

Your friends follow you like ducklings as you weave your way through the groups of people standing around and conversing outside the nightclub, leading them towards the edge of the sidewalk by the road to wait. Your eyes scan the street, waiting for the sight of a familiar car to enter your view. When it inevitably does, you perk up immediately.

"He's here!"

Zayne pulls right up to the curb next to you, putting the car in park but leaving it running before he gets out to join you and your gaggle of friends on the sidewalk.

"Hi Zaynie."

A weight suddenly eases onto your shoulders.

“You’ll catch a cold wearing just that," Zayne says in lieu of a greeting.

"I'm not that cold," you protest, pouting, but you clumsily slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat anyways.

You truly aren’t that cold, the liquor in your system doing more than enough to keep you warm, but you know that Zayne won’t let you refuse him, especially if you were to provide him with that as your excuse. Besides, Zayne's coat is much too comfortable to turn down. You bring the collar up to your nose and inhale, the familiar scent of Zayne’s cologne washing over you.

Zayne exchanges brief pleasantries with your friends before opening the car door to the backseat, allowing them to clamor inside his vehicle. He gently closes the door once he's sure they're all safely inside and then moves to open the door to the passenger seat for you.

Zayne pauses when you place your hand over the back of his, which rests on the door handle of the car.

"Thanks for picking us up again, Zayne. I know you must be really tired after such a busy week at the hospital and I know they," you toss a sideways glance at your rowdy friends in the car, who can easily be heard from outside of the car despite the windows being all the way up, "can be a lot sometimes, especially when they're drunk."

You turn your attention back to Zayne.

"I'm also drunk," you say as if it's not so incredibly apparent. It feels necessary for you tell him.

"I know," Zayne says. A small smile rests on his lips. He takes his hand off the door handle and flips his palm over to press against yours, holding your hand loosely. "I would not have offered to pick you and your friends up if I was unwilling to do so." He squeezes your hand gently. "What's most important is that you all enjoyed yourselves."

You pull your clasped hands closer to you as you lean the upper half of your body against Zayne’s side. "I had fun, but I'm glad to be here with you," you say, resting your chin against his arm as you peer up at him, your eyelids heavy. “I missed you.”

“How honest of you,” Zayne dryly remarks, though the warmth of his gaze betrays his fondness. He leans down and presses a delicate kiss to your forehead. “I missed you as well,” he murmurs against your skin. You lean further into Zayne’s touch, eyes slipping closed in contentment.

However, that all shatters soon enough.

“Let’s go, lovebirds!” your friends shout, sticking their heads out of the now fully rolled down backseat window. They motion for you to get in the car.

You loudly groan, pressing your forehead into Zayne’s shoulder. “If we ignore them, you think they’ll go away?” you mumble.

“Hey, we heard that!”

Zayne gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get your friends home safely and then we can go home ourselves. I picked up food earlier this evening from that place you like to frequent. I can reheat it for you when we get back.” Zayne lets go of your hand and opens the passenger door for you.

“I love you so much. You’re the best, thank you,” you say, giving Zayne a kiss on the cheek before you climb inside the car with his assistance.

“Of course.”

Zayne closes the door once he’s sure you’re completely inside the vehicle. He observes the way you immediately turn in your seat to face your friends in the back row, quietly chuckling to himself as you do your best to shut down their teasing about how lovesick you are for him.

Zayne walks around to the driver’s side of his car, placing his hand on the handle. If only your friends knew the truth. If they were aware of the depth of the love and care he feels towards you, they would surely be calling him lovesick as well. Perhaps, they already have an idea of the strength of his affections for you. After all, he’s not willing to play chauffeur for people around Linkon City at the request of just anybody.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Don’t Leave Like That

It started like any other fight—a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, fueled by sharp words and frustrations that neither of you had fully voiced. Marshall had been stressed, the weight of his career pressing down on him, and you had been feeling neglected, your own insecurities bubbling to the surface.

“You’re always busy, Marshall! I’m here, waiting for you, and you don’t even notice!” you shouted, arms crossed as you paced the living room.

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy because I’m working my ass off for us?” he snapped, his tone cutting. “I can’t drop everything every time you feel insecure!”

Your heart clenched at the word “insecure,” and something inside you snapped. “You don’t get it, do you? I feel like I’m fighting to matter to you!”

“Maybe I don’t have time for this right now!” he shot back, his voice rising.

That was the last straw. Without another word, you grabbed your keys and stormed out, slamming the door behind you.

---

The rain had started as a light drizzle but quickly turned into a torrential downpour. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles white as the wipers struggled to keep up with the storm.

You replayed the fight over and over in your head, every word cutting deeper. You felt stupid, hurt, and angry—not just at Marshall but at yourself for letting it escalate.

“Maybe I don’t have time for this…” his words echoed in your mind, the sting of them making tears well up in your eyes.

Your vision blurred, and you didn’t see the sharp turn until it was too late. The tires slipped on the wet road, and your heart leaped into your throat as the car spun out of control.

The sound of screeching tires, shattering glass, and the sickening crunch of metal filled the air.

Then everything went black.

---

Marshall was still pacing the living room, running his hands through his hair and replaying the fight in his head. He hated how the fight had ended, hated the way you’d looked at him before you left.

When his phone buzzed, he grabbed it immediately, hoping it was you.

“Hello?”

“Is this Marshall Mathers?” a calm but serious voice asked.

“Yeah, who’s this?” he replied, his chest tightening.

“This is Officer Daniels with the Detroit Police Department. Your wife was involved in a car accident—”

“What?” Marshall interrupted, his voice cracking. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

“She’s at Detroit General Hospital. She’s stable, but I suggest you get here as soon as possible.”

---

Marshall didn’t remember much about the drive to the hospital. By the time he got there, his hands were shaking, and he could barely focus on what the receptionist was saying as she directed him to your room.

When he saw you lying in the hospital bed, bruised and battered but awake, relief flooded him so intensely he almost collapsed.

“Marshall,” you croaked, your voice weak.

He was at your side in an instant, his hand reaching for yours as tears streamed down his face.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes welled with tears. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It is,” he said, his voice breaking. “If we hadn’t fought, if I hadn’t said those things, you wouldn’t have left.”

“I was stupid, too,” you said, squeezing his hand despite the ache in your body. “I thought if I left first, you couldn’t leave me. I was scared, Marshall.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “You’re everything to me. I’d never leave you. Never. But seeing you like this… I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to losing you.”

“You didn’t lose me,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’m right here. And I’m sorry, too. We both let it get out of hand.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

---

The weeks that followed were hard. Marshall stayed by your side through every doctor’s appointment, every therapy session, and every moment you needed him. But he couldn’t stop beating himself up.

Every bruise and scratch on your body felt like a punishment, a reminder of the fight that had sent you out into the storm.

One night, as you sat on the couch with him, you noticed the way his eyes lingered on the faint bruise on your arm.

“Marshall,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours.

He looked up at you, guilt written all over his face.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said firmly. “We were both being stupid, both saying things we didn’t mean. This… this was an accident. And we’re okay now. That’s what matters.”

He nodded, though his eyes were still heavy with emotion.

“I just… I never want you to feel like I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t ever want you to think you’re not the most important thing in my life.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “I know. And I’m not going anywhere, Marshall. Not unless you’re coming with me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too,” you replied.

And in that moment, you both knew that no fight, no storm, and no mistake would ever break the bond you shared.

[pankowcrumbs]

Papaya Dancing X Lando Norris

Authors note: I Saw this and couldn't not picture Lando doing this so enjoy 🩵

The sun was blazing, the perfect setting for what was shaping up to be one of the most bizarre yet brilliant days of my life. I was on set for the music video of my new single, “Drive Me Crazy,” which was all about wild summer nights and unapologetic fun. The concept? A mix of glamour, chaos, and just the right amount of ridiculousness. The centrepiece of the video? A driver, shirtless, in a car wash, dancing with a papaya-coloured McLaren and spraying himself with soap and water.

To top it off, the driver would be wearing a papaya McLaren F1 helmet, leaving the identity a complete mystery. Well, a mystery to everyone except me, of course.

Lando Norris, my not-so-secret boyfriend, had enthusiastically agreed to the role after I jokingly pitched the idea during a late-night conversation. “I’ll do it,” he’d said, grinning mischievously. “Only if I get to keep the helmet and embarrass myself as much as possible.”

True to his word, he showed up on set, helmet in hand and ready to throw himself into the absurdity of it all.

The cameras rolled as Lando leaned casually against the McLaren, the papaya paint gleaming under the studio lights. The scene began with him washing the car in slow motion, shirtless, suds dripping off his torso in the most exaggerated way possible. By the time the music hit the chorus, he was full-on dancing, spraying soap and water everywhere, even slipping at one point and laughing so hard the crew had to pause filming.

“Lando,” I called out between takes, trying to stifle my own laughter. “You’re supposed to make it look sexy, not like you’re in a comedy sketch.”

He lifted the helmet slightly so I could see his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is sexy,” he said, puffing out his chest dramatically before spinning on his heel and doing a ridiculous shimmy.

The crew was in stitches, and honestly, so was I. His carefree attitude was infectious, and it made the entire shoot feel like a chaotic party rather than work.

When the music video finally dropped a few weeks later, the internet exploded. Fans flooded the comments section with theories about the mystery driver. The papaya helmet and McLaren car were obvious clues, and within hours, Lando’s name was trending.

“Guys, it has to be Lando Norris!” one fan tweeted, attaching side-by-side images of Lando at a race and the helmet from the video.

Another chimed in, “If it’s not Lando, I’ll eat my shoe. The McLaren connection is too obvious.”

The speculation reached fever pitch, and neither Lando nor I did anything to quash the rumours. In fact, we found the entire situation hilarious, texting each other screenshots of the wildest fan theories.

But the real bombshell came at the next F1 Grand Prix. I’d always been a fan of the sport, and Lando had invited me to join him for the weekend. This time, though, there’d be no sneaking around, no trying to fly under the radar. We decided it was time to confirm what everyone already suspected.

As we arrived at the paddock, hand in hand, the cameras descended on us like a swarm of bees. Reporters shouted questions, fans cheered, and photographers snapped away. Lando, ever the joker, leaned in and whispered, “Ready to break the internet?”

I smiled up at him, squeezing his hand. “I think we already did.”

The reaction was immediate. Social media lit up like fireworks, with fans reacting in every possible way.

“CONFIRMED: Lando Norris and Y/N are dating, and I’m not okay,” one tweet read.

Another simply said, “This is the crossover I didn’t know I needed.”

During the weekend, I stayed close to Lando, getting a behind-the-scenes look at his world. It was fascinating watching him interact with the team, the focus and determination he had during qualifying, and the way he lit up when he talked about racing.

But my favourite moment came after the race, when we were back in the McLaren hospitality area, away from the chaos. Lando plopped down next to me, still in his race suit, and sighed dramatically.

“So,” he said, smirking, “how does it feel to date the internet’s favourite papaya driver?”

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “I think they’re more obsessed with you than me at this point.”

“Impossible,” he said, leaning over to kiss my temple. “You’re the real star here.”

The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind of excitement, but through it all, Lando and I stuck together, soaking in the surreal experience of sharing this part of our lives so publicly.

By the time we left the Grand Prix, the “Drive Me Crazy” music video had reached record-breaking views, and the internet was buzzing with memes of Lando’s car wash antics. One fan had even photoshopped him onto a shampoo bottle, dubbing it “Papaya Suds by Lando Norris.”

As we boarded the plane home, Lando turned to me with a grin. “So, when’s the next music video? I think I’ve found my true calling.”

I laughed, resting my head on his shoulder. “Let’s just get through this one first, yeah?”

And as the plane took off, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for every absurd, wonderful moment with him. It wasn’t just the racing or the music or even the chaos of the internet’s obsession—it was the way we could laugh through all of it together.

[toasttt11]

changes

July 28, 2008

Two year old Mary was squirming crying loudly as she moved back and forth.

Colleen and Bill shared a desperate look, Mary has been sick for weeks and no matter what they do and what the doctor does nothing is making her better. She seems to be in constant pain and just uncomfortable all the time.

Mary had got an ear infection after swimming in the lake in the beginning of the summer and they went to the doctor to get it treated but it never got better.

She then got sick, really sick. She had strep throat and a sinus infection and her ear infection spread to her left ear as well.

It’s been three weeks and nothing they do is making her better, they can only give her so much antibiotics with her being so young.

Colleen reached down feeling her forehead and immediately pulled back looking extremely, “Bill it’s too high.” She looked worried.

“We will take her now.” Bill quick decided and she nodded picking up a squirming and wailing Mary in her arms and Bill went to his Dad who was luckily staying in the house to tell him they were leaving and to watch Grace and Will.

Bill rushed them to the hospital and they rushed in, Mary’s wailing has only gotten worse and the face was just covered in tears, nothing they are doing to soothe her was helping.

Mary was rushed back to a room as her fever was over 102 and that is extremely dangerous, the nurses quick to started to try and cool Mary off as the doctor came in and started to see what could be the issue.

He checked her ears and frowned deeply when he looked in her right ear not liking what he saw but he saved that for later and has the nurse give more antibiotics to Mary and a soothing spray for her throat that is even more irritated from the screaming.

He also had the nurses give Mary medicines to help break her fever and had them set up an IV knowing she needed more nutrients and hydration but would be extremely difficult with her throat right now.

It was a long night.

July 29, 2008

By the next night Mary had gotten significantly better, her fever broke and her throat seemed to be doing better but it was specifically her right ear that was not getting better and it was worrying the doctor.

Her right ear got infraction first three weeks ago and she had had three full rounds of antibiotics and nothing is making the ear better.

The ear infection was worrying because it was also making everything else worse and almost impossible for her to get any better.

She was still in obvious pain and her ear has gotten pretty red and swollen.

The doctor had the nurses start doing some drops in Mary’s ear especially her right one to start and see if that helps.

The doctor doesn’t want her going home until her ears started to get at least a bit better.

August 4, 2008

Mary has been in the hospital for eight days now and she’s been slowly getting better but she was still in pain.

Her grandfather brought Grace and Will to visit and Will picked out a blue octopus stuff animal for Mary and she has been cuddling with it since.

“She’s getting better.” The doctor said as he stepped back from checking her heart, “What i’m worried about is the permanent damage in her right ear.” The doctor solemnly told Colleen and Bill.

“Permanent damage?” Colleen asked worried gripping on to her husband’s hand.

“With how long the ear infection has lasted and her being so young it’s very likely, it’s not common but her ear is in serve pain and her eardrum looks like it has permeant damage.” The doctor told them seriously, it’s rare for it to happen but it can happen.

“Like hearing loss?” Bill asked with a deep frown.

“Yes. It is hard to tell how much hearing she has lost and might still be loosing in her right ear, right now we can tell she still has some hearing.” The doctor informed them.

“Is there anything we can do?” Colleen asked tearfully.

“Right now no. When her ear infection goes away completely we can see how much hearing she has lost.” The doctor said making them nod, “She is going to her ear infection commonly now and she will be using drops on her ears for the rest of her life, you’ll find the things that agitate her ears and the drops can help prevent the infections and may help one from growing even more.”

August 8, 2008

After four more days Mary was allowed to go back home.

She had lost fifty percent of her hearing in her right ear and she is young but seemed confused some times when she couldn’t hear something well on her right.

Colleen and Bill started getting into the habit to talk to her from her let side so she can hear better and it’s something they will make sure Grace and Will does.

Mary held onto her blue octopus as she walked into the house looking around.

Will and Grace rushed over to their baby sister and slowed down when they reached her before pulling her into a tight hug.

Grace placed a kiss to top of Mary’s blonde wavy hair and Will held her hand gently.

Once Grace and Will let go of Mary, Colleen brought Mary to her room as Bill sat down with the other tow.

Bill started explaining Mary’s hearing loss to Grace and Will and what they should do to make sure she can hear them well and that she may need them to repeat things.

Grace and Will both quickly nodded.

There was never a day that went by that Grace and Will didn’t treat Mary perfectly and have always been so good about remembering her ear and staying on her left side to talk to her, they both learned how to help Mary take care of her ear and what to do when she has a ear infection.

Will spent hours with Mary growing up helping her strengthen her shot on the right side because that is the side she has to play on with her ear, she can’t hear well enough if she played on the left wing or center so she had to play right wing.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 21

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 600

Masterlist

———————————————————————

This announcement had floored me, and that’s putting it lightly.  

I hadn’t seen it coming at all.  

I was absolutely certain of her decision to go to Canada and, above all, that she would never reconsider it: she had made it a long time ago, and it was her professional dream.  

And here she was, telling me that she loved me enough to decide to stay, here, with me.  

We had a long discussion. I needed a few days to think it over. She didn’t take it well at the start of our conversation, perhaps thinking we’d fall into each other’s arms.  

But I couldn’t commit without reflecting first. It would’ve been selfish not to. I knew this was our last chance to be together and make it work.  

And most importantly, she was sacrificing a professional dream—though she wouldn’t admit it—to stay with me.  

She pointed out that she could get a great position at the hospital where she was working and that her life wasn’t just about that; it was about me.  

Gradually, she took the time to understand me.

"I’ll give you some time, Ona. I’m here, okay?"

When I returned to the office on Monday, my mind was spinning.  

I immediately called Alexia to tell her everything about the weekend. She was ecstatic and so happy for me, urging me to go for it.  

I needed to step back, to think things through. And for that, I needed to avoid Lucy as much as possible.  

I had to do everything I could to see her as little as possible this week, even with the project meetings. It was going to be tough.  

She sent me an unambiguous message Sunday evening:

 "Meeting tomorrow, Ona? 8 PM? The bed has arrived..."   

I replied with the simplest message possible:  “See you tomorrow.”   

I didn’t want to explain the situation to her, but I also didn’t want to be alone with her. However, at 8 PM, it would just be us.  

So, on Monday morning, I called the foreman and asked him to stay later than usual, which he agreed to, much to my relief.

That Monday, I remained as professional as possible with Lucy, who was surprised by the worker’s presence. No ambiguous gestures, no sly smiles—nothing. I was in control.  

We all talked together, and I used babysitting Jeanne as an excuse to leave before 9 PM.  

 "Run away while you can"  became my mantra for the week.  

I replied to all her messages professionally and distantly throughout the week. I could feel it was frustrating her.

 "What’s going on with you, Ona?"  she texted me on Wednesday.  

I kept reassuring her that everything was fine.  

My biggest mistake was sending Raphael to the project site in my place on Thursday without warning her.  

I had a hunch she’d be furious about that—I was beginning to know her.  

At 9:30 PM, I was in the studio drawing up plans for another renovation project, my glasses perched on my nose.  

I suddenly heard someone clear their throat. I looked up. I hadn’t heard her come in.  

It was Lucy. She stood there, her piercing blue eyes hard as stone, arms crossed.  

 "We’re finally going to talk, Miss Batlle, since it seems it’s easier to get a hold of the Prime Minister than you these past few days."   

[chenziee]

Always an Accident

This silly, chaotic little story was brought to you by @fumiiigation who picked it from my list of ideas!! Thank you for your support and patience 🤍

[ READ ON AO3 | KO-FI ]

----------

Bepo loved his job at the hospital, loved being a nurse. Despite the grueling hours and the both physically and emotionally exhausting work, he loved helping his patients and he loved the people he worked with—both the doctors and his fellow nurses.

Sometimes, however, he wished he wasn’t a man in a largely female population of the nurses’ office. Their topics of conversation could, on rare occasions, be… uncomfortable.

Especially when he walked in on them without anyone noticing.

“I swear, they should stop making men so hot if they weren’t going to put a nice personality in there, too,” one of the girls, Mina, muttered as her eyes followed one Trafalgar Law as he walked through the emergency room public area.

“I know, right?” Tate, the head nurse, agreed. “Trafalgar is so nice to look at but then he opens his mouth and he’s like that… Thank god he’s a surgeon and doesn’t have to talk with the patients all that much. His bedside manner is just…”

“Godawful?”

“Come on, guys, he’s not that bad. Just… blunt,” Tristan tried.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have a big fat crush on him. That intern of yours under Doctor Kureha… What was his name, Tony? He’s much nicer. You should ask him on a date already.”

Immediately, Tristan flushed deep red as she muttered something incoherent before burying her face in her hands in embarrassment.

Bepo cringed, trying to convince himself he couldn’t hear anything; after all, not only was the topic not something wanted to participate in at all, but… that was his best friend of over twenty years they were talking about. Even though Bepo could admit they weren’t wrong, it still didn’t make him very happy to hear.

Clearing his throat to alert the girls to his presence, Bepo watched as guilty looks flashed across all three women’s faces as they greeted him. But, it only took a second before Mina shook the shame of being caught off like a pro.

“Hey, Bepo,” she started slowly, “you’re friends with Doctor Trafalgar, right?”

“Uhm… yeah? Sorry.” Bepo eyed her warily as certain eagerness found its way to her eyes.

“Does he have a girlfriend? What does he like? What’s his type? He never talks about himself!” she finished with a whine, staring up at Bepo like he was her only salvation.

Taken aback by the flurry of questions, Bepo blinked, his mouth falling open even as words all but escaped him. Where did he even start…?

“Next patient please!”

Inadvertently, Bepo looked up at Law’s voice, before his gaze was drawn to the people who stood up… and his eyes went wide. He knew that green hair and earrings shaped like katanas. And he most certainly knew the guy with a clearly broken arm who was reluctantly trudging after him, black hair and scar under his eye, looking so guilty as his friend all but dragged him behind the curtain to see the doctor.

Bepo closed his eyes, silently praying to whoever was listening to let this pass peacefully.

“Bepo…?”

His eyes snapping open, Bepo looked at Tate, giving his superior the most sincere apology that he could muster in advance. Then, he turned to Mina. “I think you’re getting your answers in about ten seconds…”

A beat of confused silence passed but before any of the girls could voice the questions that were clearly on the tips of their tongues—

“What the fuck?!”

“It was an accident!”

Taking a deep breath, Bepo’s expression twisted into a grimace. He knew peace was too much to hope for…

“It’s always an accident with you, Straw Hat-ya! I swear to fucking god, the second I take my eyes off of you, you break something! Do you think you’re made of rubber or some shit?!”

Bepo flinched at Law’s angry yelling. He couldn’t help but notice how he reverted back to the old nickname—a sign that he was really, really angry.

Three identical looks of bemused shock turned to Bepo, wordlessly asking for all the answers in the world. Understandable, but Bepo wasn’t looking forward to explaining—and excusing—this very public mess.

Finally, Tristan spoke up, her voice quiet and almost scared. “Bepo, what’s going on?”

Bepo looked at her, a strange kind of pain in his chest as he opened his mouth to answer. “Straw Hat, the patient who just walked in, he’s—”

“No, don’t I-love-you me when you have a fucking bone sticking out of your fucking arm!”

“—Law’s husband,” Bepo finished, feeling completely and utterly defeated.

“Well…” Tate drawled, slight annoyance making its way to her voice. “Nice way to get a glimpse into Trafalgar’s life.”

Bepo’s head dropped. “I’m so sorry, boss.”

----------

As he stood in front of the door to the examination room where Tate had banished Law and his husband after Straw Hat’s X-ray was done, Bepo tried to gather the courage to knock. Law was really mad earlier, after all; an anger born of worry, but still anger nonetheless.

Was it safe to get in the middle of that yet? He didn’t hear Straw Hat blaming Roronoa and anything else he could think of, nor was Law yelling about ‘falling in love with idiots’ and ‘dumbass fucking ideas’ or telling Straw Hat he was sleeping in Onigiri’s bed tonight anymore, so… probably?

Taking a deep breath, Bepo finally raised his hand to knock, waiting for a moment before cracking the door open.

“Uhm… Guys? It’s Bepo, sorry. Can I come in?”

After Law’s tired reply, Bepo pushed the door open all the way, taking the scene before him in for the first time.

The two of them were sitting in chairs next to each other with Straw Hat leaning back casually, a carefree grin on his face as he happily greeted Bepo as if nothing was wrong, while Law gingerly examined his forearm. Bepo actively chose to ignore the way Straw Hat’s shirt was suspiciously wrinkled around his neckline as if someone had grabbed him to pull towards themselves, as well as the slight mess that Law’s hair was now. He really didn’t want to think about that.

Instead, Bepo turned his eyes to the thing that got them in this situation in the first place.

“Do you need any help with the treatment? Do we have to operate?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Torao just overreacted,” Straw Hat replied before Law could so much as open his mouth.

Law clicked his tongue in annoyance, his fingers that were holding Straw Hat’s arm twitching. “Sure, Luffy, blame me for being pissed to find you in the fucking ER for the fifth time just this month.”

“Not true! It’s the second time at most!” Straw Hat retorted as he stuck his tongue out defiantly.

“Want me to pull out the records?” Law deadpanned, shooting Straw Hat a look before sighing. “One day I’m going to find you on my operating table and then fucking what am I gonna do?”

Bepo flinched. There it was, the heart of this entire issue. Bepo couldn’t say he didn’t see where Law was coming from; after all, Straw Hat did find himself in the hospital almost as often as the people who actually worked there and it wasn’t good for Law’s heart.

And, judging by the guilty, sad look that flashed over Straw Hat’s face, the man knew it, too.

“I’m sorry, Torao…” he muttered, leaning over to squeeze Law’s knee with his good hand.

Law looked up at him, something heavy and so very loving in his eyes and suddenly, Bepo felt incredibly uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat awkwardly to remind them he was there—not that that had ever stopped those two from being sickeningly in love with each other even after all these years—, Bepo watched as the strange tension broke and the both of them went back to what they were doing as if nothing happened.

“Bepo, can you please go grab a brace and the paperwork?”

Bepo nodded, giving the two of them one last look before leaving. As he closed the door after himself, he saw them exchange a slow, tender kiss and he couldn’t help but smile.

They really deserved each other. Despite all their differences, even now, fifteen years later, they still looked just as happy as the day they started dating. Just as happy as they looked on their wedding day. And Bepo was happy for his best friend.

Although, he would certainly appreciate if they stopped subjecting him to scenes like this on the regular.

[sweetdreamspootypie]

Also just got the text that my ward is partially locked down as a Covid ward again

Except a different ward has been the designated Covid ward for the last few months (so I've had less of a direct insight into numbers)

So either it's just us again

But that seems unlikely because if it was a planned designation as Covid ward they wouldn't have locked down that pod as that's the pod with a less powerful negative pressure ventilation system

Or it's overflow and thus the hospital Covid numbers have the entire other ward as designated Covid and now us as well

[cinnamonest]

Hello all. Sorry for my radio silence until now, here's a half-vent-post, half-update-post for the mess I have going on.

So, my second doctor's appointment... I am very grateful to have a wonderful employer who let me take some time off, so since I've been not great, I've gone to stay with my parents for the week.

I am experiencing what I was told is something called "polydipsia," which I can only describe as something I would come up with if I were asked to devise a new method of psychological torture. It's the sensation of intense, constant thirst, but drinking water doesn't do anything. Like, you know how normally when you're super thirsty and drink water, you feel a sensation of relief when you drink water? That doesn't happen. When you swallow and put the glass down, the thirst is just as intense as it was before you drank, it just... does nothing. You just stay insanely, incredibly thirsty, nonstop, and there is nothing you can do, no amount of drinking makes the sensation go away, but you keep getting the urge to drink because that's what your brain compels you to do.

It was mild at first, now it's reached a point that I'm chugging bottles of water, just nonstop, can barely sleep due to thirst. I know it could be so much worse and a lot of people have much worse things and this is minor by comparison, and I'm very grateful this isn't painful, but it's driving me insane. Just the constant sensation that you're trying to fix but nothing alleviates it at all despite trying is frustrating in a way I cannot describe and it's slowly worn me down to the point of psychological exhaustion.

Apparently, this may be due to some kidney issue. If so that means basically all that water I'm drinking, is actually not being absorbed by my body, my kidneys do nothing, so basically it's as if I'm not drinking at all. So, effects of dehydration as well.

At first with the urgent care doctor I went to initially, I was told that I am not diabetic due to blood sugar normal levels and that I had a kidney problem I needed to see a specialist for. Then I finally got an appointment with the primary care doctor, who said that may be incorrect because diabetes would easily explain the polydipsia. However, the last blood sample they took for lab work they did a few days ago came back and it turns out, once again, I am in fact NOT diabetic.

They drew even more blood and did a series of extensive fluids tests, basically measuring the contents by electrolyte, so I would get updates of lab results sent to me reading like "potassium - normal" and "chloride - normal" etc etc as they test each component. Everything kept coming back as being at normal levels until it hit sodium, and then for some reason, sodium and only sodium got flagged as being imbalanced.

I may have "diabetes insipidus", I'll just have to wait for testing results.

Unfortunately, with comically impeccable timing, I needed wisdom teeth taken out as it's apparently already begun to undo my previous expensive orthodontic work, so I just got out of wisdom tooth surgery yesterday. However, since I have ADHD meds (which are amphetamines) flowing through my body, they put me under general anesthesia rather than laughing gas.

So it's done, my mouth is stuffed with gauze, I'm numb with opioids for the gaping holes in my gums, I feel like a pincushion with the number of needles that have been stuffed in me in the last 72 hours, but it's done and hopefully I won't need anything more.

[softquietsteadylove]

Would you please do one more chapter for the president AU? Like Thena is holding a speech and Gil protects her from a sniper, getting shot on scene but she learns later about his status cause she is being Transported to safety?? Some intense stuff? Thank you so much love your stories never stop please!! ❤️❤️❤️

Thena looked up as Sersi approached her with gentle steps. Sersi always walked lightly but she truly was walking like a deer on a frozen lake. She had been chosen to face the slaughter. "How is he?"

She seated herself quietly. Sersi was also shaken by the events of that morning's press conference. A shooting was always enough to have anyone on edge. And for a bullet to have actually landed--wounded one of their own; everyone was anxious. "He's still in surgery."

Thena nearly curled over her knees completely in her seat. It wasn't the presidential thing to do. But she couldn't breathe. "Sersi-"

"Thena, I'm sorry," her friend whispered, leaning across the seat to rub her back.

Sersi had witnessed first hand the way Thena had cried and screamed Gil's name as she was dragged away from him for her own safety.

There was always a risk for her safety. It came with the job. But the shot was planned, came from above. Only the wind and Gil's sharp instincts had saved them all. And while he had gotten her down in time, he was less fortunate.

His name had ripped out of her throat at the sight of his blood. She couldn't control it, couldn't conceal what seeing him hurt did to her. The rest of her SS guard pulled her away and under the cover of their protection. She could remember her hands clawing to get back to him. In the end, they had picked her up in order to evacuate without her struggling against them.

Gil's body was just...lying there.

"Sersi, I can't do this," Thena repeated, nearly gasping for air. Air Force One was far, far from crowded, but she felt as if she were being tossed around in a glass jar.

"Yes, you can, just breathe," Sersi encouraged, kneeling in front of her. "He's alive, Thena, that's all you need to worry about for now."

He was alive for now. But the thought of the man she loved lying on a steel table being operated on--possibly never hearing her last words to him; it was unbearable. It was unthinkable that their last kiss had been in the office between meetings, or that the last they'd held hands was when he was helping her in and out of the beast.

How could the last time she told him she loved him be 17 hours ago?

Thena attempted to pick her head up. She blinked, but the tears were far from controllable at this point. Not that Sersi minded. She shook her head, "if he dies-"

"You can't think of that right now," Sersi tried to urge her to calm herself again. She stood, using the natural movement to ease her back into her chair properly again. "He's getting the best care he can right now. I promise as soon as we get word we'll turn right around."

They couldn't. And even if redirecting the Eagle were that easy, they were only so capable of speed. Sheer distance still separated him from her. And if things took a turn for the worse and she didn't make it in time-

"Thena," Sersi followed as she stood, unable to sit any longer. The sound of their heels was muffled on the aircraft carpet. "You have to-"

"I don't have to do anything!" It was true, that was her position as designated by their godforsaken country. And with anyone else, she might not have felt quite as bad for it. But Sersi's face betrayed immediately what her outburst felt like to receive. Thena sighed, lowering her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I just...you don't--I can't lose him."

If Sersi had wondered at all what their relationship was before - which was honestly doubtful - she certainly had her evidence now. But she came over to her again, wrapped her arms around her and hugged her as a friend, not an advisor or cabinet member. "You won't."

Thena shook her head again. She wasn't so confident, and in a rare moment like this when she could afford to be unsure, she was rampant with doubt. She hugged her friend back. "This can't be how it happens--it can't."

Sersi gave up on the empty platitudes, rubbing her back as she listened to her weepy breaths.

"I can't do this without him," Thena pulled her head up again, attempting to resolve herself. "I mean it. I can't do this - any of this! - without him. I'll go insane."

Sersi had no argument for that. Gil was her personal aide, as well as defacto security for her, and that said nothing of the fact that Gil was just the best at generally handling her. "Things will work out."

The words barely sounded like words by this point. Thena looked out the window, starting to pick at her nails. Gil would usually pick up on her nervous ticks and stop them. He could say it was unsightly for Madam President to bite her nails, and then he would have an excuse to hold onto her hand for three whole seconds.

What good was having an aircraft with the highest level of clearance in the world if it still travelled at this kind of speed?

"So," Sersi started along a different path. She lightened her tone, seating herself and looking up at her, "how long?"

Thena remained staring out the window, tearing at her finely cared for nails layer by layer. "You want the exact date?"

It was sharp and sardonic, but Sersi smiled. "I suppose not. Obviously it's long enough, though. And I'm guessing it was since before Ikaris."

That did pull Thena's attention away from the clouds below them and back to her friend. She didn't bother hiding her surprise; Sersi never talked about Ikaris in any way.

But she continued, breezing over the mention of their past with treachery. "It was easy to tell that you were close, and not just as handler and VP."

She didn't think they had been so obvious. But then again, Sersi actually had an oddly sharp sense for the dynamics people could have with each other. It was part of what made her such an asset.

Thena finally sat down again, wrapping her arms around herself, only to start biting her thumb. "It was just going to be nothing--in the beginning. It happened once, let's move on."

Sersi waited patiently for the rest of the story.

Thena sighed, "but then it happened again, and then a third time. But we always said it couldn't be more than that. We had jobs to do. And we both understood that."

"Until," Sresi prompted her, and even smiled impishly when she was glared at for it.

Thena closed her eyes, and imagining Gil's smiling face was almost enough for her to smile in real time. "He was escorting me, as always. We ended up talking and, in essence, we both determined that we were not achieving the casual intentions we had claimed."

"So, you were already in love, is what you're saying," Sersi clarified. Thena glared at her again for her impertinence, but it did nothing to make the quiet woman back down. "I could have told you that."

Thena rolled her eyes, but it did bring somewhat of a smile to her face. "We agreed to explore the potential for more--quietly."

"How did you keep it a secret?" Sersi asked and leaned forward, her curiosity pulling her in. "I mean we had our suspicions but the biggest doubt was simply 'how would you even get away with it?'."

"With practice," Thena conceded, even letting her head tilt back to the head rest. "We got good at sneaking him in and out under different covers. And it worked--for well on a year."

"A yea-?!" Sersi nearly burst out loudly, even for being within the sound cover of a jet. But she managed to rein herself in. She cleared her throat more quietly, "a year?"

Thena nodded. The best years of her life. She gnawed at her cuticle. "Then everything happened. The transition of my position was so fast and so imperative, we didn't really have time to talk about what this meant for us. But Gil...Gil said he wasn't going anywhere."

Tears sprung to her eyes again.

Sersi put the pieces together. "You did fight awfully hard to keep him as your personal detail when you took office."

Thena scoffed, "and let some stranger guard me?"

"They wouldn't be a stranger," Sersi scolded her for denouncing the entirety of the rest of the secret service. But she sighed, "but I suppose you wouldn't have been a good protectee for any of them anyhow."

Especially not if she knew she could have Gil instead.

"It had to be him," Thena resolved, going back to fidgeting with her hands on her lap. "We kept saying we just had to make it through the rest of the term."

Sersi made a face. It wasn't nearly so simple to just exit the office. But this wasn't the time, and she knew that very well. "Thena-"

"He made it!" Kingo ran out, holding up the satellite phone in his hand as if he were a horseman riding at dawn. "They got him stabilized, at least."

"He's alive?" Thena asked, although she immediately discovered she had no air in her lungs. She stood and walked towards Kingo but her knees weren't strong enough anymore.

Both Sersi and Kingo lunged for her as she fell in the middle of the aisle.

"Whoa, hey," Kingo whispered as he caught her, lowering her into a seat properly. "Gil's alive, we're already cleared to return to land and we'll put a bypass on the hospital so you can see him, okay?"

Thena gasped. She couldn't breathe, but for an entirely different reason. She accepted Sersi's shoulder as she cried, hyperventilating into her soft green cashmere dress.

"He's fine, Thena, just breathe," her gentler friend soothed her, running her hand over her hair. "Not much longer. I promise we won't pull you away until you've spoken with him."

"Uh, we really can't-" Thena could hear Kingo begin, and then cut himself off, presumably being glared at by Sersi. He cleared his throat and stepped back, "you got it, Boss. I'll tell Phastos the news."

"He's alive, he's alive," Sersi repeated to her, whispering in her soft accent like a lullaby. "You'll be with him soon."

"I love him," Thena choked out desperately. It ripped out of her just as desperately as she had cried out his name after seeing him get shot. She had to say she loved him, just in case something tried to take him from her again.

"I know," Sersi soothed. "You can be with him soon."

[kaidabakugou]

the new girl at one of my favorite bakeries called me pretty this morning and it literally melted all my stress away 🥺

[bronzewool]

Book: Irene Adler “The Woman” is a famous opera singer and actress, and one of four people to ever beat Sherlock Holmes in a battle of wits. Adler loves her husband dearly and only keeps hold of the blackmail she has over the Duke in order to keep herself safe, and will never reveal the photo to the public as long as he leaves them alone. Holmes never shows any romantic interest in Adler, or anyone for that matter, and only ever admires her for her wit and cunning.

Every adaption after: Irene Adler is a femme fatale, hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes, and some combination of a wanted criminal and dominatrix. Adler is allowed to beat Holmes ONCE, in order to teach him humility, but after that he needs to beat/save her in order to adhere to the status quo, and undo the lesson Book!Holmes learnt in the first place. This is somehow more feminist.