#but you are more likely to not need to be hospitalized

[quarterlifekitty]

This post made me start thinking about getting a false positive test with Simon.

You tell him you felt a little strange, your period was late, so you took an at home test, and it came back positive. You know how he feels about fatherhood, so you hasten to point out that these tests can be wrong— so you’ll need to go to the doctor to make sure.

He spends the next week up to your appointment in a haze. All he thinks about is you and what life will be like if you’re pregnant. God, what if you wanna keep it? If he leaves, he’ll be a deadbeat, but what if he stays and he’s a shit father, like his was?

Everything little, every baby aisle in the store, every pram out on the street makes him think. He can’t focus on anything else.

Eventually, he reckons that it’s likely the test was accurate. That he needs to be prepared. And the more he comes to accept it… the more he finds himself excited. The more he wants it. He’s looking up recipes that are good for expecting mothers. What to put in a hospital overnight bag. The pros and cons of formula vs breastmilk. He’s still terrified, but he’s also happier than he thinks he’s been since he got together with you.

So when he gets the news that the test at the doctor’s came back negative, he’s a little gutted. You were excited to tell him— you thought this was saving your relationship, but he doesn’t seem relieved at all…

Tells the lads about it in an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability when they’re spending the night in a safe house. Price is smiling and about to give him an eloquent response with relevant advice.

“Jus’ knock ‘er up fo’real then,” Soap blurts out, earning an elbow to the ribs.

[andhumanslovedstories]

The critical care unit is where the sickest people in the hospital go. Those patients need a nurse completely dedicated to them, and the unit needs to keep "code beds" open in case a patient in a different part of the hospital urgently needs a higher level of care. That means critical care is always under pressure to decompress (i.e. to turf their less sick patients somewhere else so they can take even sicker patients.)

In the last weeks before we went on strike, I was floated repeatedly to the critical care unit to take care of boarders. That's what we call medsurg patients who have graduated from critical care but don't yet have a bed on a medsurg floor. Personally, I hate floating to critical care. On the floor, you would (ideally) never get a patient assignment of three patients who were critical care status an hour ago. That's going to be a very heavy assignment. But that's how many I can take when I'm helping out in critical care. And it's dangerous. It's SO dangerous. The scariest shifts I've had have been with patients who should be in critical care but aren't. People with massive strokes, or GI bleeds, or respiratory failure, that are technically able to be downgraded because if you say they're less acute, you can give more of them to the same nurse.

Last June, Oregon passed a law mandating certain nurse to patient ratios on units. While critical care is ideally a one to one ratio, medsurg (where I work, which is the general hospital population that isn't maternity, emergency, maternity, or behavioral health--so, almost everyone) has more patients per nurse. This is good and makes sense! Most people in the hospital do not need dedicated one-on-one care with someone outside their door. As a night-time medsurg nurse, I expect to take four patients a night.

And by the way? There are a lot of medsurg nurses in America who would KILL for four patients a night. I know some nurses reading this are like "four??? are you kidding me?????" Night shift nurses in states with less protections can average seven or eight patients a night. I've seen some go as high as twelve. When I have five patients, I feel like I'm running like crazy. I truly cannot understand how I could possibly give good care to more people than that.

What this means in an understaffed hospital is that patients who should be critical care get classified as medsurg instead, so instead of needing another nurse to treat another ICU patient, you can give that patient to a medsurg nurse instead. This is so common. I'm in float pool which means I work in almost twenty different units in the hospital. I have seen this happen on every single unit. Critical care patients become medsurg patients. Medsurg patients become observation class. Whatever it takes to maintain the legally mandated ratios without actually increasing staffing.

One of the major things ONA (the Oregon Nursing Association) is striking for protection against decisions like this that put patients and their caregivers at increased risk so that the hospital can save money. Even when laws are put in place protecting workers and patients, companies will work as hard as they can to circumvent those requirements. It's not enough to get legislation passed. We need the power to enforce that legislation. And baby, there is power in a union.

[steddieas-shegoes]

because it's yours

for @steddielovemonth using the quote prompt: "If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'd love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours." - Stephen King

rated t | 1250 words | no cw | tags: post-vecna, eddie munson lives, pre-relationship, injury recovery, first kiss, getting together

▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️

Eddie’s not allowed visitors in the hospital, at least according to Wayne and Hopper. It’s for his own safety, they say.

Steve knows that’s partially bullshit. He’s good at sensing bullshit. But he plays along anyway, convinces the kids to just visit Max and they’ll plan a welcome home party for Eddie when he’s released. It gets harder by the day, especially when all the news they hear is that Eddie is healing well and should be good to go home even sooner than they thought.

No one tells them when he’s released.

Steve only finds out because he walks by the room Eddie’s been in, and instead of the door being closed, it’s wide open. There’s unfamiliar voices coming from the room. It could be doctors or nurses, but something makes him pause and peek in the doorway.

It’s an older woman and what appears to be her adult children, all of them having a very serious conversation about how she needs to be more careful while gardening.

Steve leaves before he’s caught eavesdropping.

He considers stopping by Dustin’s, see if he’s heard the news. Maybe the kids found out first.

Who is Steve to Eddie really?

Just because they gave each other looks and flirted a little and Steve carried him out of the Upside Down and-

He swallows the hurt and decides to go straight to Wayne’s new trailer. It’s just outside of town, easy to get to even with the damage done by the cracks. He’s been there a few times to check on him, even helped him set up his cable.

When Wayne opens the door, Steve knows something is off.

He doesn’t invite him in. Instead, he steps onto the porch and closes the door behind him. He gives Steve an awkward smile instead of his usual warm, comforting one.

“Is he home?” Steve asks.

“He’s sleeping,” Wayne allows. “He’s still recovering.”

“Do the kids know he’s home?”

“Son, he-“

“Why is he hiding? Everyone’s worried and just wants to make sure he’s okay. No one would keep him from resting!” Steve hates that his voice pitches higher. His hands are shaking. He’s never spoken to an adult he respects like this. “We just wanna know he’s safe.”

“He is.” Wayne sighs. “I told that boy no one was gonna stay away for long. He insisted everyone would forget him. I said no. He didn’t listen.”

Steve’s eyes dart over to the window he knows goes to Eddie’s bedroom. He’d been the one to help set it up when Wayne moved in.

“Can I please see him? I’ll be quick. I won’t even tell the kids yet. I just need to see,” Steve begs. “Please, Wayne.”

Wayne wordlessly opens the door and gestures for Steve to come inside.

He leads him to Eddie’s room, reminding him with a look to be quiet and not wake him up. Steve gives an understanding nod and walks into the room.

There’s sunlight sneaking through the blackout curtains, just enough to light up the bed that Eddie’s already wide awake in. Steve can’t help the smile blooming on his face.

Eddie looks scared, though.

His eyes are wide, and he’s pulled himself to the farthest corner of the queen sized bed. His hair’s a mess, proof that he probably was asleep just before Steve got here.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve waves. He doesn’t come any closer to the bed. “I just wanted to get eyes on you. Feeling alright?”

Wayne’s standing in the doorway behind Steve, probably trying to determine if he needs to step in or ride this out. If Eddie asks, Steve will leave. He doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable.

“What’re you doing here?” Eddie asks.

Steve watches the way his jaw moves around the words, how his mouth twists differently, like it’s taking more effort to talk. The scar going across his cheek, up into his temple, and down to his neck seems to be the cause of it. It’s still an angry red, stitches visible in some places where the bites must’ve been deeper.

He walks forward slowly. Eddie doesn’t stop him. Neither does Wayne.

The scar is big. It’ll always be big, though Steve has plenty of experience with scars and knows it’ll fade into a paler pink than it currently is. It’ll be a reminder, every day, of how he almost died. Eddie will have this memory every time he looks in the mirror, every time his own fingers brush against the ridged skin.

Steve cups the side of Eddie’s face that’s scarless.

Eddie gulps.

“Is this why you didn’t want anyone to visit?” He whispers.

Eddie doesn’t answer, but his eyes closing and head tilting down is answer enough.

“Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie opens his eyes.

“Do you really think a scar could scare any of us away? After how we found you, a scar is the least of our worries. You don’t have to hide from us.”

Steve’s not sure if Wayne’s still standing in the doorway, too focused on the way Eddie’s holding his gaze now. He’s lost weight and he’s still pale, but he’s alive. He’s still beautiful.

Maybe even more now.

“You’re alive. Everyone just wants you alive.”

“I’m gonna look even weirder now,” Eddie rasps out. Steve wonders if there’s damage to his throat, something his voice may never recover from entirely.

“I dunno. I think it’s pretty badass. Since when do you care about looking weird, anyway?” Steve smirks. “The Eddie Munson I know would find a new ridiculous story to tell every time he’s asked about something this cool.”

“I was leaning towards making people believe I got in a fight with a dragon,” Eddie shrugs one shoulder. His cheeks are red, warm underneath Steve’s touch.

“And won.”

Eddie leans his head forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “Of course I won. A knight in shining armor saved me.”

“You saved everyone else first. Don’t forget that part of the story,” Steve reminds him.

“A hero’s brave sacrifice…” Eddie mumbles. Steve chuckles. “Maybe true love’s kiss?”

“Isn’t that supposed to break a curse?” Steve whispers, suddenly nervous about all the times they flirted before. Flirting is harmless until it’s not.

“You’re right. In this case, it’s the curse of never kissing a nice guy.”

“And you think I can break that curse?”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

It’s a little awkward at first, mostly because parts of Eddie’s jaw are still numb from nerve damage and moving in certain ways is difficult. But once Steve adjusts, and they both giggle against each others’ lips, it’s easy. They fit.

Eddie tries to deepen the kiss, but he is still healing, and he has to pull away when his stitches tug painfully.

“Your battle scars won’t matter to any of us. They damn sure don’t make you less beautiful to me. Everyone misses you,” Steve rubs his arm, the one with no visible bandages. “Can I at least bring Dustin over later? Let him see that you’re actually alive and the hospital and government haven’t been lying?”

“Is that what everyone thinks?”

“You have to remember we’ve been through this a lot. Hopper was dead until he wasn’t. Anything can be faked.”

“That’s reassuring,” Eddie groans. “Yeah. Bring everyone by tomorrow. I’ll even shower.”

Steve kisses the top of his head. “Do you need help?”

“With showering? I just might, big boy.”

The way Eddie smiles is different now, but Steve loves it all the same.

[lilylushes]

Luigi x Pregnant Reader Headcanons

-Your sex life with Luigi had always been active, but once you two decided to see what happens in terms of getting pregnant, he got baby fever BAD and it turned into a whole baby making season for him. 

-You had sex almost every day before, but now it was constantly - on the countertop, in the shower, in the pool/ocean, etc. Even when you were tired, he’d happily make love to you with gentle strokes, humming how much he loved you and wanted a baby. He’d also lay on the praise even more during baby making season. “Mmm, going to give you a baby, beautiful.” “So good for me, taking all my cum, my good girl.” 

-He was SO excited when you both found out. The two of you both suspected you might be pregnant, so you took a test and decided to look at it at the same time. When you flipped it over and the two lines were clear as day, he was elated. He hugged you so tightly and even though he’s not an overly emotional guy, he cried tears of joy, and gave you so much praise. “You’re going to be the best mother.” “I love you.” “I can’t wait to do this with you.” Oh, and he’s thinking about how hot you’ll look pregnant.

-He immediately ordered a shit ton of books about pregnancy, fatherhood, babies, and everything.

-He thinks about different names all the time, too. He’d ask, “baby, what do you think of x as a name?”

-He goes to literally every appointment, ultrasound, and signs you up for a birthing class.

-NEEDS to find out the gender because he can’t not know. You’d do a little private thing, just the two of you. I picture one of those ones on the beach with a little cake and the wine glasses. No matter what you’d have, his reaction would be so precious. More hugs and tears, probably.

-He’s also kinda panicking because now he’s gonna be a literal father in charge of keeping another human alive. He is reading the books that he ordered religiously. He worries deep down that he’s not cut out to be a father.

-He proudly assembles all of the nursery furniture and makes sure it’s all safe.

-He takes up crocheting/knitting so that he can make socks, hats, a blanket, etc. for the baby. He goes kinda crazy with it, lol.

-He just wants to be a part of it all in any way that he can. He reads up on what you’re experiencing, is always asking how you’re feeling, wants to make sure you take all the vitamins you need, and takes part in your birthing class to ensure that he’ll be a supportive partner.

-He talks to your baby at night. “You have the best mom. She’s so pretty and so smart, you’ll see. You’re giving her kind of a hard time, though. It’s hard for her to sleep. Just keep still in there for a few hours, hm?”

-He is always encouraging you to try things out to make everything more comfortable for you, especially at the end.

-He talks about what the baby will look like and be like. You both agree on your eyes with his smile. You two take the opportunity to look at your own baby pictures. He’s a bit embarrassed at his, but he can’t get over how cute you were.

-Pregnancy sex, especially towards the end, is wild and constant. “I know you’re uncomfortable, baby. I read how we can induce labour, wanna give it a try?”

-He totally panics when you go into labour. He did pack your hospital bags long ago, but he gets all blushing and flustered.

-While you’re in labour, he gives you distance when you need it and is nearby when you need it.

-When your baby is born, he’d be crying so hard. Between your baby being here and how proud he is of you for going through labour, he’d be extremely emotional.

-He can’t believe how tiny the baby is, being totally in awe of their little hands and feet. He’s just in disbelief that you two made this sweet little baby.

-Afterwards, when you’re holding the baby, he says, “thank you for giving me him/her.”

-Even though he’s running on no sleep, he’d watch you sleep afterwards and come over to kiss your cheeks and forehead.

-He’s so proud to bring your visitors in. He’d by hyping you up to them, like, “she did such a good job, I’m so proud of her. She was so strong the whole time.”

-When you’re leaving the hospital, he’s beaming with pride to be able to look beside him and see you and your baby. 

-When you’re in the car, he’d look in the mirror at you and your baby in the backseat, and say, “There’s nobody else I’d rather do this with, y/n. love you, baby.”

[spiderb00]

- FAM OUT #5

Sophia Laforteza x reader  fam/kids out masterlist

“on a quiet night, no one expected it, but something was wrong with Yoonchae. And now, you and Sophia will face it together” 

Genre – fluff, angst?        Warnings – no one knows who Evie is 

Now playing – Unstable, by Justin Bieber Ft. The Kid LAROI 

The moonlight coming through Yoonchae's window was the only thing that allowed her to see in the dark room, and even though it wasn't much, the maknae still didn't care. To tell the truth, Yoonchae wasn't even fully aware of where she really was. Was she at home? Was she at the Kats'? Was she at Yn and Sophia's? She had no idea. The pain and fever spoke louder than her thoughts.   

Getting out of bed with some difficulty, Yoonchae tried to walk to the bedroom door. Holding her stomach, the younger girl moaned in pain, stopping walking and leaning on the bedroom walls for a moment.  

“Mom...”   

It was the only thing that echoed off the walls of Yn's house, all the rooms extremely quiet except for the moans and complaints of pain coming from Yoonchae's room.   

“Mom, please...” Still without an answer, Yoonchae continued walking, opening the bedroom door and trying to walk down the dark hallway.   

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, you were resting your back comfortably on the counter, drinking water. Thirst had caught you in your sleep, and as quiet as the whole house was, you could have sworn you saw someone muttering something. Deciding to see if everything was all right, you left the empty bottle on the counter, Scooby following you faithfully while Max stayed in bed with Sophia.  

Starting up the stairs, you heard another moan of pain, which sounded a lot like Yoonchae, and before you could even hurry, Max's bark echoed through the house, signaling that he had gotten up to investigate what was wrong, just like you.   

“Mom...”  

That was all you needed to hear to know it was Yoonchae's voice. Hurrying up the stairs, you found the girl at your bedroom door, slightly bent over as if in pain.   

“Yoonchae?” You said, coming close to the maknae, putting your hand on her shoulder.   

“Mom, please, my belly hurts.”   

Not even having time to think about what the girl had called you, you put your hand on Yoonchae's forehead, seeing how burning she was.   

“God, you're burning up with fever, Yoonchip.” As soon as you closed your mouth, the younger girl's body fell apart around you.   

“YOONCHAE!” 

Quickly taking the little girl into your arms, you opened the bedroom door, placing her in the empty space of the bed. Max and Scooby were barking, as if they knew exactly what was wrong in the room, and you quickly tried to wake Sophia without taking your eyes off Yoonchae.   

“Sophia!” You tried, shaking your girlfriend lightly, and trying to keep Yoonchae awake. “Come on baby! Yoonchae, don't close your eyes!”   

It was all too much, and you didn't want to panic. No, you had to stay calm.   

“Mom, please, my belly hurts a lot.” Yoonchae said, her voice hoarse, like you'd never heard it before.   

“I know baby, I'm waking Sophia up.” You said, trying to calm the girl down and trying to wake up the Filipina, who seemed to be very far from the real world in her sleep.   

“Sophia!” Calling out once more, you moved a little away from Yoonchae, walking over to your girlfriend's side of the bed and shaking her harder.   

“WAKE UP!” Stunned, Sophia woke up in a jump, seeing you standing next to her on the bed. Looking at the clock on the bedside table, Sophia narrowed her eyes, the digital clock reading 02:34 in the morning.  

“Baby, we have a problem.”  

Returning to the side of the bed where Yoonchae was, you grabbed the younger girl's forehead again, begging the heavens that her temperature was more normal.   

“ Damn, she's still burning.” You said, putting pillows under Yoonchae's head and looking at Sophia. “Baby, Yoonchae's burning up with fever, I've been calling you for a while. We've got to get to the hospital,” you said, barely having time to breathe.   

Quickly getting out of bed, Sophia finally understood what was going on. She took Yoonchae in her arms and felt her temperature with her hands.  

“Mom, no hospital, please.” Yoonchae said to Sophia, making the older woman look questioningly in your direction, seeing you shrug and go into the closet to put on clothes other than pajamas.   

“Stay down, baby. I'll be back in a minute.” Sophia said, leaving Yoonchae lying down and walking hurriedly towards you.   

“She called me 'mom'.” Sophia said, as she entered the closet you shared, watching you take off your old hoodie and put on a more presentable sweater.   

“I know, she called me that too, I think she's delirious with fever.” You said, finishing putting on your sweater. “We have to get her to hospital as soon as possible, baby.”   

“I know. Can you take her to the car while I pack a bag with our stuff?” Sophia asked, putting on one of your sweaters and exchanging the shorts she was wearing for pants.   

“I'll wait for you outside.” You said, giving Sophia a kiss and heading towards where Yoonchae was.   

Carrying Yoonchae bridal style to the car, you gently placed the girl in the back seat of the car, trying to remember if she had eaten something wrong, or done anything that had left her in this state. You were stressed, you knew the girls were working hard for their comeback, but you didn't want to think of it as exhaustion, you didn't want to have to shout at anyone for overworking a seventeen-year-old girl.  

“Mom?!”   

“I'm here baby, it's okay. Sophia will be down in a few minutes.” You said, running your hands through Yoonchae's hair as you tried to get her to be quiet.   

“Are we really going to the hospital?” The younger girl asked, her eyes downcast, and if you could, you would transfer everything she was feeling to you.   

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, but your fever is too high.” You saw a small tear run down Yoonchae's eye, and wiping it away, you kissed the maknae on the forehead. “Hey, don't cry, I'm here with you.”  

“Can I call Evie when I'm there?” Yoonchae asked, making you look confused. And before you could ask who 'Evie' is, Sophia was running to the car, telling you to drive. 

“Sophia is with her, I just wanted to let you guys know what's going on.” You said into the phone, Yoonchae's parents on the other side of the line. “The doctors have given her some medication, just enough to bring down her high fever and they're investigating where the stomach ache is coming from, but it looks like it's just something she ate.”   

Walking back and forth in the hospital hallway, you had your phone stuck to your right ear, Yoonchae's parents were calm on the other side of the line, a stark contrast to how you were a few minutes ago. Despite everything, their calmness made you start to calm down too, and thanks to the hospital, Yoonchae had stabilized and stopped “ delirious”.  

“I trust you and Sophia, Yn. Just keep sending me updates and if she doesn't get better we'll buy the first plane ticket to Los Angeles.” Yoonchae's mother said, hearing your tired sigh on the other end of the line.   

“I just... got scared. I try not to show it to Sophia, or to Yoonchae, but I was so scared.” You said, tears welling up in your eyes.   

“Honey, you didn't do anything wrong. I know, it's scary, but it just shows me how much you care about my daughter, and I wanted to say thank you, to you and Sophia. Thank you for taking such good care of my Yoonchae. You'll be great mothers one day.”   

A solitary tear fell from your eyes. Maybe life really was preparing you and Sophia for the future. Damn, you couldn't wait for the future.   

“Now go and get some rest, and don't forget to text me.”   

“I'll tell Yoonchae to call you when she gets better.” You said, starting to say goodbye to Mrs. Jeong.   

Hanging up the phone, you leaned back against the wall, your head falling back against the wall as you let out a big sigh. It was 4:23 AM and you had never driven so fast in your entire life. You were tired, sleepy, but you were so relieved, Yoonchae was safe, and you would do it all over again if you had to.   

Sitting in one of the chairs in the hallway, you waited. The doctor had said that it was best for only one person to go in with Yoonchae, and Sophia offered so quickly that you couldn't deny it. Just as your eyes were about to close, you heard the door in front of you open, and then close with a satisfying click.   

“Her fever has gone down considerably, and the pain is gone.” Sophia said, taking a seat next to you on the left. “She finally managed to sleep, so I came to see how you were.”  

Giving your girlfriend a slight smile, you grabbed her right hand, where the ring you gave her - when she was still at the Dream Academy - rested.   

“I've called her parents, and also the Kats, everything will be fine.” you said, leaving a kiss on Sophia's hand, on top of where the ring rested.   

“I know. When you're with me, everything works out. You give me strength, Yn.” Sophia said, lightly dragging the chair closer to you and resting her head on your shoulder. “I always manage to stay calm because you're always there to calm me down.”   

Looking at your hands together, you thought about how much you loved Sophia, and that you wouldn't trade her for anything in the world. You hated things like that happening, but when you had Sophia by your side, everything seemed to soften, and that despair disappeared, you simply became a thousand times stronger when you were with Sophia. And while she thought you were her strength, only you knew that your strength actually came from her. It was inevitable, you completed each other.   

“Do you want to see her?” Sophia asked, lifting her head from your shoulder before she fell asleep right there.   

Shaking your head, you both got up, going to the room Yoonchae was in. Opening the door, you both tried not to make a sound, but failed miserably when the door creaked open and woke the younger girl.   

“Sorry, baby. That was just the two of us trying to be discreet.” Sophia said, making Yoonchae laugh slightly.   

“Hey, are you feeling better?” You asked, coming close and smoothing Yoonchae's mussed hair.   

“Yeah, I don't know what that was about, but I hope I never have to go through that again.” The younger girl said, relaxing into your caresses on her head.  

“Yeah, you gave us quite a scare. Do you remember anything?” You asked.  

“I was very confused, but I know I called you both mom.” Yoonchae said, her cheeks immediately turning a shade of pink. “Sorry about that.”   

“Yoonchip, you don't have to apologize.” Sophia says, reaching over and taking the maknae's hand in hers.   

“It's just... I love you both very much, and you're always looking out for me. I just think I projected a bit...” Yoonchae said, putting her free hand on her face to cover her red cheeks.  

“We love you very much, Yoonchae.” You said, taking the hand that covered her face. “You'll always be our daughter.” You said, in a playful tone, making Sophia agree.  

“Thanks guys.” 

“All right, how about I see if there's anything for us to eat for breakfast, huh?” You said, moving away a little to go towards the bedroom door.   

“I'll be back soon, Fam.” You said, making a peace sign - which made Yoonchae laugh and Sophia sneer at you - before walking out the door.   

And for a minute, thoughts of a family took over your mind, maybe you should start planning your wedding to Sophia, maybe look at engagement rings, it doesn't matter if it's too soon, you wanted everything to be perfect.   

Taken by these thoughts and the whole situation, you forgot one important detail...  

Who the hell is Evie? 

Hi guys, how are you? I hope you're all well.

Evie is closer than you think!!!

I missed writing for Fam out so much, I wrote this chapter in two hours (I think). But I hope you all like it as much as I did.

Actually, the plot of this chapter came from one of my anons, <3 anon, here's the request, if you're interested in reading it.

<3 anon is a very frequent anon here on the blog and even helped me create Evie, so much love to this anon!

I feel like I've said too much, so I'll end here. I'm excited to write the next chapters, but for now I'm going to put off some other requests.

xoxo, spider.

[dollesung]

FEMME FATALE .ᐟ

PAIRING. jungwon x fem reader GENRE. nsfw REQUESTED? yes. WORD COUNT. 1.7k. SYNOPSIS. after a girls day out with your friends, you show your boyfriend, jungwon, your newest set of nails. let's just say he's more than a fan. WARNINGS. sub jungwon. dom reader. reader also yaps a lot. profanities. handjob. dirty talk. jungwon thinking with his penis and his penis only. (lmao). minors do not interact.

NOTE. i wrote this at the hospital semi-drugged on some strong-ass painkillers. i shouldn’t be held responsible for whatever the fuck i wrote but i will be (i’m jk, not about the hospital and the drugs tho.)

Jungwon was waiting by the couch when you got home.

Arm perched by the backrest, with a late-night show illuminating on the TV. Jungwon was nearly half-asleep, as he blankly stared at the screen, but his face lightened at the sight of your figure entering your shared-apartment.

You had an exhausting, but exciting day out with your girl friends. You spent a lot of hours shopping for clothes and bags, as well as pampering yourself with an entire session at a spa and salon.

You deserved it after tiring your back out at work for months now, project after project piling themselves at your desk. Jungwon, of course, your ever-loving boyfriend who could never resist you, absolutely agreed that you needed some time off and supported your endevour.

“Baby, you’re home,” speaking of, Jungwon greets you as you walk in the door, with a multiple array of shopping bags in both hands. “Let me help you with those.”

You give him a grin, handing over half of the bags and letting Jungwon place them on the sofa. He grabs the remote from the coffee table by the TV and shuts it off, wanting to focus entiret on you. (Not that he cared much about that show, anyway.)

Jungwon sets some of your bags down on the floor, leaving a bit of space for the two of you to sit.

“So,” he begins. “How was your day?”

MORE UNDER THE CUT.

“Oh, it was fantastic,” you gush, repositioning yourself to face your boyfriend. “The girls and I spent waaaay too much cash on this one spa but it was kinda worth it because I’ve never felt so relaxed—“

You begin to tell him loads of anecdotes about your day, the stuff you bought, the stores you went into, and without question, Jungwon listened quietly, resting his elbow against the couch and his head against his hand. He let you go on for a few minutes, wanting to hear everything about your day.

“—then, after that, we went to a Dior store, I bought you a perfume, but thankfully they didn’t have the shoes I wanted in my size because I was sure I was going broke already, and oh—!” You stop mid-rant, suddenly remembering something you had in mind earlier today.

“Yes?” Jungwon pried you to continue.

“I got my nails done!” You exclaimed, excited. “You wanna see them?”

“Of course, baby,” Jungwon responded with interest.

You squealed in delight, excited to show the man your new set. You always loved getting your nails done, but in the last couple of months, you were unable to get them fixed due to work.

“Okay, close your eyes,” you instructed, and Jungwon obliged. You placed your hands, palms down in front of his face and told him to look. “Open them.”

Jungwon eyes fluttered open as you told him to, and he was immediately greeted with the image of both of your hands.

“Tada!” You giggled. “I got them in your favorite color!”

The nails, colored both blue and black with a chromatic finish, shined as Jungwon eyed them, with a hand on your wrist so he could get a better look.

“These are really pretty—“ Jungwon notes, feeling his mouth go a little dry. “And long…”

You give the man a frown. “Do you not like them?”

“No—!” He exclaims, giving you an eager look. “I love them! They’re pretty.. I’ve just.. never seen you go for long nails before.”

Not knowing what to say, you keep quiet, watching as Jungwon continues to examine your nails like he’s never seen anything like it before.

You begin to notice a subtle flush of color in his cheeks, as well as the sudden change in his demeanor. His eyes flick between your face and your hands, and you notice him swallow, before licking his lips.

Then, your eyes flick down, towards his lap.

“Oh,” you vocalize, eyebrows raised and lips curling into a smirk. “Really, Wonnie?”

There was an evident print of his bulge against his shorts, which you swore wasn’t there before, given the fact that he’s been staring at your hands a little longer than an average person would, and his earlier expressions, the puzzle pieces click in your head.

Jungwon seems to have noticed your realization, as he makes a move to pull away and hide. “S-Sorry–!”

You grab the man by the wrist, lithe fingers wrapping themselves around the limb. You can almost feel his pulse quickening. “Don’t hide, baby.”

His face is flushed red, and he’s attempting to look away from you, possibly ashamed. You reach out with your other hand, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look you in the eye. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you comfort. “It’s okay.”

“I-I don’t know why…” He attempts.

“There’s no need to explain, love,” you give him a comforting smile. “C’mere.”

You pull him forward gently, allowing him to settle on your lap. You place a hand on his hip, while your other hand starts to brush up against his leg, leaving feather-like touches from his waist, down to his thigh, to his knees. 

Jungwon’s breath hitches, eyes locked on your hands, watching your every move. Then, after fiddling with the hem of Jungwon’s shorts, you press your palm against his bulge, cupping his half-hard cock against his shorts.

“Ah, n-noona,” Jungwon moans. “Y-Your hand…”

“Want me to stop?” You ask, watching Jungwon’s face for any signs of discomfort.

Instead, Jungwon fervently shakes his head, urging you to continue. You press your hand against him a little harder, eliciting a moan from the other. He throws his head back a little, his hands grabbing your shoulders for support.

Jungwon’s hips produce the tiniest bit of movement, and you’re not even sure if he’s aware he’s done it, but you urge him on, gripping his hip with your other hand and letting him grind against you.

“Fuck,” he curses, already looking breathless as he continues to grind on your hand. “Please?”

“Please what?” You look up at the boy, drunk on the image of him absolutely flushed and panting on your lap. “Let noona know what you want.”

Jungwon gasps, hands clenching against your shoulders. “Y-Your hand, please?”

A small part of you wants to continue teasing him, wants to see how far he can beg just for your hand alone, but you decide to take pity on the boy. You push him off your lap and instruct him to take his shorts and boxers off. 

Drunk on his own arousal, Jungwon follows as instructed, tugging the articles of clothing off of himself and unto the floor. Then, you tell him to turn around and sit back on your lap, right after you lean against the arm of the couch. 

Jungwon hesitantly takes his spot back on your lap, and you pull him close, his back flush against your chest. You start to press open-mouthed kisses against the expanse of his neck, relishing at the way the boy shivers at each one.

“Please, ah– stop teasing me,” Jungwon voices, hands placed on each of your knee.

You let out an entertained chuckle, letting your hands wander under Jungwon’s shirt. “You’re not exactly in the right position to be making demands, baby.”

Jungwon didn’t respond and remained quiet, whimpering as your fingers brushed against his nipples, before trailing back down to his legs. You watched in amusement as goosebumps appeared against his skin when you rake your nails ever so lightly against his inner thighs.

Your take a glance at the appendage between his legs, his cock, now hard as a rock, stood between his thighs, looking a little closer, you can almost see the precum pooling from the tip.

You laugh, amused. “You’re so fucking hard, huh?”

Jungwon doesn’t respond, embarrassed at the entire situation, eyes closed shut to avoid both looking at you and at his own arousal. 

“This what you wanted, Wonnie?” You ask rhetorically, before slowly wrapping your fingers around his cock.

“S-Shit,” he curses under his breath.

“Answer me,” you order, giving his cock a rough squeeze.

“Fuck, yes–!” He yelps, panting against your chest. 

“Good boy,” you whisper in his ear with a smirk, before starting a slow pace, stroking his cock with your hand.

“Oh, god,” Jungwon moans, hand loosely holding onto your wrist, as if he was bracing himself. 

You take a minute, stroking his cock at this pace, after a while, you decide to speed things up, focusing on the base of his cock. 

“O-Oh, noona–!” Jungwon’s moans only grow in volume, throwing his head back, against your shoulder. He’s starting to thrash on your lap, legs shaking and eyes closing from the sensation.

“Feels good, hm?” You taunt the boy on your lap, drunk on every moan he lets out. “Feel good, acting like a slut on my lap, Wonnie?”

The boy practically squeals, shaking his head, as if to deny your claim. “N-Not a– shit!”

You didn’t let him finish, the pace of your hand picking up speed as you continued to jerk him off. His thighs begin to shake, threatening to close on your wrists, but your legs keep him from doing so, trapping his legs between yours.

“Look at this fucking cock,” you taunt, giving the organ an experimental squeeze. “Fuckin’ leaking all over my hand.”

Jungwon whines, both hands now gripping your wrist. You’re not sure if he’s attempting to push you off or urging you to continue. ‘’m suh– sorry!”

You take Jungwon’s chin with your other hand, forcing him to look down. “This what you wanted, Wonnie? My hand around your cock, hm?”

He’s nodding so aggressively, eyes locked on his cock, as if he was hypnotized at the sight of your hand– or more importantly, at the sight of your nails, wrapped around his dick.

“Please, n-noona–!” He’s whining, back nearly arching against your chest as you continued your assault on his cock. “I-I’m, ungh, c-close!”

“Want you to cum, baby,” you mouth against Jungwon’s ear. “Cum all over noona’s hand, baby.”

It takes only four strokes before Jungwon was cumming all over your lap. His back arched and head thrown back, eyes shut and mouth open in a silent scream. After a moment, he wilts and nearly collapses against your chest.

As you maneuver him off your lap and onto the couch, you grab a tissue from the coffee table to clean the both of you up. Jungwon is still catching his breath by the arm of the couch after you finish.

“So,” you start. “I’m definitely going back to that nail salon.”

Jungwon chucks a pillow over your head in retaliation.

NOTE. ngl, can't remember writing that ending so idk why it sucks so much.

© dollesung 2025

[amirasainz]

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ♥️

The Nurse and her Racer

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as Yn hurried through the bustling paddock of the Monaco Grand Prix. The air was thick with the scent of fuel, burnt rubber, and the faint tang of espresso from the hospitality suites. Ferrari’s scarlet banners fluttered in the morning breeze, and the hum of engineers fine-tuning the cars filled the air. Yn, as always, was in the thick of it, her medical bag slung over her shoulder and a warm smile on her face. She was the heart of the Ferrari team, the one person everyone turned to when they needed comfort, care, or just a listening ear.

But today, something was off. Charles, their golden boy, was missing.

“Where’s Charles?” Yn asked, glancing around the garage. The usually lively Monegasque driver was nowhere to be seen. Lewis, leaning casually against a counter with a cup of tea in hand, raised an eyebrow at her.

“Didn’t you hear? Poor Charlie’s down with the flu,” Lewis said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Fred decided to bench him for the weekend. Can’t have him passing out in the car, can we?”

Yn’s heart sank. Charles had been looking forward to his home race for weeks. She knew how much it meant to him. “Is he okay? Has anyone checked on him?”

Lewis smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Funny you should ask. Fred’s sending you to his apartment to take care of him. Seems like you’re the only one he trusts to handle our precious Charles.”

Yn blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Me? Alone? At his apartment?”

Lewis chuckled, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. “Oh, don’t look so nervous. It’s just Charles. Besides, I think he’ll be thrilled to see you. He’s been giving you those puppy eyes for months now.”

Yn rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat. She and Charles had always shared a special bond. He was sweet, kind, and endlessly charming, and she couldn’t deny that she had feelings for him. But she had never acted on them, and neither had he. It was an unspoken thing, a quiet understanding between them.

“I’m just his nurse,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Sure you are. Just don’t forget to take care of Leo too. That dog’s more protective of Charles than Fred is.”

---

An hour later, Yn found herself standing outside Charles’ sleek, modern apartment in Monte Carlo. She took a deep breath, smoothing down her scrubs and adjusting the strap of her medical bag. Before she could knock, the door swung open, revealing a very sick-looking Charles. His usually bright eyes were dull, his hair messy, and his cheeks flushed with fever. He was wearing a loose hoodie and sweatpants, looking far from the confident F1 driver the world knew.

“Yn?” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“Fred sent me,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “You look terrible, Charles.”

He managed a weak smile. “Thanks. I feel terrible.”

Behind him, Leo, Charles’ dachshund, trotted over to Yn, wagging his tail excitedly. She bent down to scratch his ears, earning a happy bark from the little dog.

“At least someone’s happy to see me,” she teased, straightening up and giving Charles a gentle smile. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Charles groaned but didn’t argue. He shuffled back to his bedroom, Leo following closely behind. Yn took in the apartment as she followed him. It was spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Mediterranean. But it was also surprisingly cozy, with photos of Charles’ family and friends scattered around, along with a few racing trophies.

She helped Charles into bed, fluffing his pillows and tucking the blankets around him. He watched her with half-lidded eyes, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured.

“It’s my job,” she replied, though her cheeks warmed at the way he was looking at her. She busied herself with taking his temperature and checking his vitals, her touch gentle and professional.

“You’re burning up,” she said, frowning. “Have you taken anything for the fever?”

Charles shook his head. “I forgot.”

Yn sighed, rummaging through her bag for some medication. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

He chuckled weakly. “Maybe. But you’re here to take care of me, so I’ll be fine.”

She handed him the pills and a glass of water, watching as he swallowed them. Leo jumped onto the bed, curling up at Charles’ feet and giving Yn a look that seemed to say, I’ve got this.

“You should rest,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

Charles hesitated, his eyes searching hers. “Will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?”

Her heart melted at the vulnerability in his voice. “Of course,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Charles shifted slightly, making room for her. Before she could protest, he reached out and pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. Leo wiggled closer, pressing himself against her side.

“Charles—” she started, but he cut her off.

“Please,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “Just for a little while.”

Yn’s resolve crumbled. She relaxed into his embrace, her hand resting lightly on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her palm, and she could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Leo let out a contented sigh, his tail thumping against the blankets.

For a while, they lay there in silence, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yn’s mind raced, torn between her professional instincts and the feelings she had been trying to suppress. Charles’ arms around her felt so right, so natural, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way.

“Yn?” Charles’ voice was barely a whisper, drowsy from the medication.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being here. It means a lot to me.”

She smiled, her fingers gently stroking his hair. “Always, Charles. Now go to sleep.”

He hummed in response, his grip on her tightening slightly. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and she knew he was asleep. Leo let out a soft snore, his little body rising and falling with each breath.

Yn stayed there, her heart full, knowing that this was where she was meant to be—right by Charles’ side, taking care of him, loving him. And maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.

---

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. Yn stayed with Charles, nursing him back to health and enjoying the quiet moments they shared. By the time the race was over, Charles was feeling much better, and the sparkle had returned to his eyes.

As they stood on his balcony, watching the sun set over the Mediterranean, Charles turned to her, his expression serious.

“Yn.” he said, taking her hand in his. “I need to tell you something.”

Her heart raced, but she nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“I… I really like you. More than just as my nurse. You mean so much to me, and I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she smiled up at him. “I like you too, Charles. More than you know.”

He grinned, pulling her into a tight hug. Leo barked happily, wagging his tail as if he knew exactly what was happening.

And in that moment, Yn knew that her life was about to change in the best way possible—with Charles by her side, and Leo as their loyal protector.

[sukeruton-san]

(I have garnered enough self-confidence where I can put my weird ideas in a post without dying in a hole with self-doubt)

A Coffee Heart

Danny's a heavy coffee drinker and he has his reasons. Ever since the half-fatal accident at 14 his heart beats at a very slow rate like 32 beats per minute type of slow

He fell asleep in class and didn't wake up automatically to a pencil dropping once (he fought six big ghost attacks in a span of 3 hours that day give him a break) he nearly caused Mr lancer a heart attack it took 10 minutes to convince him to not call the hospital.

Ever since that day he's been drinking coffee with enough caffeine in it to kill a horse, both for the energy when ghost fighting and faster heart rate.

His parents decided that they needed to take an emergency trip to Gotham to get rid of its ' Shadow mimicking human mocking echo scum ' which was apparently Batman & Co. . . .

3 days, a shit ton of research, 37 cups of 'I am living human' coffee, more research (not batfam related) and a 253 slideshow presentation that I lovingly called Gothampedia. I managed to convince them that the furry vigilantes aren't ghost ( they don't believe that humans can do the things that the bats do, so there metas) and that Gotham has many many more dangers then ghost doing its thing there

It worked. . . .sort of

" why are we packing again I thought the Gothampedia was enough"

"oh sweetheart it was" mom says she heaves a large trunk (most likely goes weapons/technology) inside the GAV " the meta vigilantes may not be the ghost haunting gotham but it is certainly haunted, the dark and dreary weight over the city must be nothing else."

Dad comes over with a mouthful of fudge swallowing " your mother is right Danny-O, Gotham needs our help and what better help is there than the Fenton's! plus with how informative your slides was,"you were barely awake for the majority of it "you know the ins and out of the place so we don't need to worry."

The probability of Ghosts aren't the problem here, it's the fact that you dress in the neon hazmat suits carrying around bulking handmade weapons that will put you on Batman's watchlist faster than you can say Going Ghost! Gotham has plenty of mad scientists you don't need to mingle with them!!

After trying and failing to get them the least postpone this adventure he looked on with Dread

There's no way to get out of this isn't there. . . .

Maybe Gotham has less restrictions on the amount of caffeine I can get in coffee.

[writingwisterias]

Dreams

Death Island! Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hospital, Coma, Injury, Near Death, Fluff Summary: One Month to go before a well deserved early retirement and all he can think about is the future

If you like this then I'll give you all a big kiss because I worked hard making sure this one flowed correctly!!

An early retirement was something that he never envisioned for himself, his life never seemed like it would end in something he wanted to do. The grass in the back garden was finally tended, the flower beds blooming beautifully as he stood watching over it with a coffee in hand. It was peaceful, weird. Something he was never quite used to. The soft barks of the dog were loud as they echoed in the open space. His money that he saved was more than enough to treat himself to this space, though it often felt too lonely. Until he found you, the light of his life. You just slotted yourself into his world without even trying. You worked perfectly understanding his duties and responsibilities he had to fulfil. The dog was next, a retired police dog. A protector in case something went wrong whilst he was away but he didn’t need to worry about that anymore. Not when he could see you from where he was standing, playing in the long grass with the old boy. 

He could see your smile the way you would pet him as he brought the ball back. It felt too much like a dream, like he never actually went into the office and demanded his retirement early after yet another mission gone bad. He felt lost without his work, his service. Having to train his hands to do something else other than fight, survive and protect. No hobby seemed to stick, nothing seemed to fill the gap he was left with. It was strange that he would spend so many years hating on his service, his job to then wish for it back. The scars that littered served as a reminder of what he went through, his medals of service shown proudly in a display case that you insisted on making. He watched you look at him, the grin on your face only growing wider. Your hair glowing in the sunlight as it blew into the wind. 

He wanted to reach you, to step off the porch and race to you. Scoop you in his arms and run through the garden with you. The dog following behind you both barking happily. Yet, his feet didn’t move from the back porch. His hand only raised waving at you. You never came closer– some days it felt like you were further and further away. The garden seemed to grow longer each passing day, the line of flowerbeds changing every so often. 

You watched him, the light shining brightly on him. His skin that was once full of colour -- now laid pale looking even more sick underneath the white light of the hospital. That damn beep engraving itself into your brain. You were meant to be happy with it, it meant he was still here. His heart steadily beat as you watched over him. Your hand clutching his tightly that your fingers grew sore.

There were others in the room coming and going, offering you food - drink anything you needed. They couldn’t help you though because they can’t help him. You didn’t want to cry anymore or return to a home where his side of the bed was cold. You didn’t want to lie on his pillow in case his scent got washed away even though that beep was proof he could…will…return. “Wake up please” You whispered as you laid your head against the side of the hospital bed.

His hand was cold, it shouldn’t be cold. It’s never been cold except for the time he bounded over to you when you were playing in the snow, shoving the frozen fingertips against your stomach as a joke. You remembered that night, the first winter in your new house. The one he always wanted with a large garden to play around with, to host family and friends with BBQ's and other events.

One month was all he had left, of all his service. It had to be their version of a fuck you that his mission had to have been another dangerous one, they couldn’t have just given him a simple chase like they did a few years ago. Sure it ended up being tied into something more but it was simple. The government showed how much they thought of him when they sent him there healthy and brought him back in a coma.

Just one month.

One. 

There were no more tears to cry anymore, your eyes were puffy from the amount you had been crying. It wasn’t fair. That he was so close to finally being able to lead his own life now he tethered on the edge of it.

“Leon wake up please” You begged again, voice waving as anger laced it. How dare he set it all up to just end here? You knew he was fighting that irritating beeping was proof he was still here. You needed his presence, you needed him just like all those times he needed you. The others jumped up as you spoke again, watching you with sad eyes as you screamed at him. Begged him to come back. You didn’t care if the hospital staff forced you to leave, you would come back the next day and do it again. Until he woke up. 

Leon continued to smile despite wanting to walk towards you. His foot never seemed to land on the grass, only hover. He felt bad, ignoring your smile and your voice that called out to him in a sweet tone. He wanted to warn you of the storm he spotted, the one that was coming behind him. He could feel the cold air trying to rip you away from him. Trying to force him to come back inside. Leon couldn’t…not without you. “Come back!” He shouted. You couldn’t hear him, not over the wind or the disappearing sun. His heart beat wildly in his chest. If only he could step on the damn grass. 

The beeping grew louder, doctors began to pull you away but you continued to shout at him. Even from the corner of the room where Chris held you against him. All of you watching in horror as Leon thrashed around. His hands gripping the sheets. You didn’t know what was happening, your shouts turning into whimpers as you stared at him. Watched as they tended to him. Your voice hurts, your body hurts, everything hurts.

Why Leon? Why did it have to be him? 

Leon turned around towards the house, the thunder crackled louder. He knew he needed to head inside, his brain was conflicting with his heart. You would come back surely. You would round the dog up and bring him back inside. You’ll come running through the doors laughing as the two of you are soaked beginning to help him shut the doors against the harsh winds. You wouldn’t stay out there, you would have heard him. The anxiety bit into him as he walked closer to the safety of the house, was the main light always this bright? You would shout at him if he found out you turned this one on and not the lamps. Always one for ambience lighting. The thunder was so loud, booming as it roared above him. Once he was inside he turned to watch you running up the garden to meet him.

Only you were gone, the flower beds had changed again. 

The nurses and doctors backed away from the bed, their bodies no longer hiding him from your view. They spoke to you but you couldn’t hear them, not when those eyes stared at you again. Chris’ grip had loosened, your legs wobbled as you approached the bed. His stubble bit into your hand as you cradled his face. “Leon?” You whispered. He smiled. He was here smiling. Your name sounded so sweet coming from his lips. You didn’t realise you could cry anymore, you thought all the tears were gone. “Never do that to me again” You laughed as you brought him close. “Please” 

It wasn’t until later - when everyone had gone home. With genuine smiles this time not the pity ones you had been given the past few days. Leon held you against his chest, his fingers working their way through your hair. He had been quiet, the silence at first you thought was just him getting overwhelmed by the full room. Or the numerous tests the doctors were running on him to make sure everything was okay. Yet, it continued as he held you now. His brain elsewhere whilst he remained here with you. 

Leon was the quiet hero, the one that was constantly praised and reminded of his success but never allowed to process the loss he had experienced. The saviours guilt that landed deep inside every time someone else died on his watch. Hero's were given parties and parades in celebration for their wins. Congratulated and recognised on the streets for their service but not him. All the work he had done was in silence, encase somehow someone linked him back to that one night that changed his world. A dark shadow of his past that effects everything he has done. He did what he did out of the goodness of his heart, out of just wanting to help people despite the horrors and baggage he has gained along the way.

His actions spoke louder than any words, that was why you fell in love with him. Why you knew no matter what he would have come back to you. Leon didn't love quietly like he was a hero. He shouted it to the stars above you, screamed it to any person that asked about you. You were his entire world, everything that was worth fighting for was in that dream he had. The survivors guilt washed away for just a moment when you got that house and he finally realised that he deserved something good. A slither of happiness to outshine all the bad. That was you. It will always be you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked. He flinched at your break of the silence. Leon sighed, his head landing on the shit pillow he had propped up behind him. “I was dreaming…during the coma” he stated simply. His words followed by a comforting silence, the space for him right now was much like all the nights he would return from missions and hold you like this. Only that was in the safety of your home, not the cold hospital that never seemed to be just as silent as you wanted it. “We were home with a dog, an older service dog. I’d watch you play with him in the garden but each day you got further and further away. The garden seemed to grow bigger and I could never reach the end. I couldn’t step off the back porch to meet you” 

“Then there was a storm, I tried to call you inside but when I turned around you were gone and I was awake” he continued as did the silence that followed his words. The two of you are taking in the gravity of the situation. It was then you realized his idea of heaven was his ending with you, the home you were in the middle of building, the garden that still hasn't been tended to. 

“I shouted at you. Screamed even. Begging for you to wake up, to come back - not to let it end like this” you admitted quietly. Leon felt you shift so you were sat up on the bed, your legs laid out over his thighs. Your soft hands landed on his face again guiding him to look at you. The world seemed to disappear when you did, nothing else mattered except him. Not anymore. “I’m back” He whispered, smiling softly at you. His lips touched your palm and kissed them. They were warm again, as were his hands when they touched your wrists. His fingers entwine yours looking at the ring on your finger. The same one that matched his. You nodded to his statement. “Maybe my shouting was the storm, waking you up from your dream?” You spoke again, leaning against his chest. Your head tucked neatly underneath his chin. “Well your anger and love can sometimes be like a raging storm” he teased. 

He was back, finally. Your bed would be warm again, the house would feel like home once more. “At least your recovery period leads up to your final day. I don’t have to worry about this happening again” You giggled. Leon smiled, his own chuckle leaving his lips briefly. “You’re doing all the gardening though, I have an idea for what it should look like. Now that I've had time to think about what the future might be like.” 

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holy hell Author. Holy hell.

Like, after I reread the Adopted son 48+ times, I still haven't processed even though I've processed fully what happened....

Like looking you need to distract myself but I can't leave your page. So I ask of you to throw us a bone of anything happier.... please

Like, IDK Royal Consort or something I don't know

That was like the first thing I could see after I like processed the episode of adopted son I just watched with my eyes that was like happy and not about food cuz I don't think I could stomach it without wanting to like viciously Chomp on a salad imagining it being Richard Grayson destroyed.

And I'm feeling bold but I'm also a coward I'm also a coward so I will not make this anonymous out of pure Hope that you who will throw a bone of any anything at us

And not just drink our tears while cackling madly cuz I feel like you do that like an ancient duchess or something IDK

Danny is floating in incredible darkness, disrupted by small shining stardust, where nothing but peace can reach him. It's been a long time since he felt so at ease that he allowed himself to flout higher and higher as if flying away into an endless cosmos.

He is about to pass a point where he knows that if he goes beyond it, there will be no return. He will know nothing but the tremendous abyss.

Accepting the joy it brings him, Danny floats towards the gateway, chest first, arms spread, and a blissful smile stretching across his face. Then, a burning sensation begins on his back, like someone had thrown a hook onto it. He has a second to scream before he's yanked away from the stardust and the gleaming gateway, hand stretched out desperately towards it as he falls, falls, falls-!

Danny slams into his body like a flight train, going off the rails and making him bounce slightly on the bed he was lying on. While trying to catch his breath, a roar of whispers starts up around him, resonating inside his skull and banging his brain like a gong.

He blinks and opens his eyes, trying to get his ears to stop ringing, but he has to shut them down due to the bright light that burns his pupils. He tries lifting his hand to rub at his eyes to soothe them but finds his limbs uncooperating.

Mentally sending the command to move doesn't seem to be received, as all he can do is make his fingers twitch slightly. His legs also won't move, not even to flex his toes. Panicked, Danny rips open his eyes again, wanting desperately to move his head but finding his neck is only able to rock in place but not actually turn.

Then, he notices a breathing mask is attached to his face. He seems to be underneath four bright lights similar to the ones he's seen on TV for medical shows. His clothes had been switched out from the fancy tux that the Waynes got him to what feels like paper-thin cloth, and he swears that there is a cap or something similar on his head.

Danny's heart starts hammering in his chest as his panic increases. He doesn't know where he is, what happened, or why he seemed to have woken in what seemed like a hospital setting. Distantly, he hears a loud double beat, rising in volume and increasing in tempo.

He can't tell where they are coming from as he struggles with all his might to get his body to move. A face appears on his right, causing Danny to flinch from the sudden appearance and the closeness. It took a moment for his eyes to focus as the person had left only breath space between their noses.

Phantom.

A bright eye, grinning Phantom with glowing cracks alongside the left of his neck. The cracks- they don't appear like scars, but honest to Ancients, they remember broken marks on porcelain dolls- went up to his left ear, curling around his jaw, and disappeared into the cloth near his left shoulder.

"What happened to you?" he means to ask, but the mask and his weakened state have the words come out more like "Wa heped to yu?"

Phantom smiles anyway, clearly not understanding what he's saying but able to make a guest, "Good morning, sleeping beauty. I've been waiting a whole week for you."

"a wek?"

"That's right, it's been a week. Frostbite was able to save you through a hazardous surgery involving half of my core and the blood of a human virgin." Phantom brushes some loose bangs out of Danny's face, somehow making his face soften even if his eyes still have that hard, tired glint. It was one of the big differences he had noticed at the gala.

Phantom had the eyes of someone who had seen the end of the world and had hearted his heart to survive it. He blinked slowly, trying to understand the information his future ghost self was saying, but his vision wavered as a new wave of fatigue overcame him.

Phantom sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Rest, my love. When you wake the next time, things should be much clearer."

Danny fights against his slumber as much as he can but is only able to hear a voice whisper, "How is the Consort?"

"He's doing better, thank you, Ambassador Drake."

Ambassador?

The next time Danny wakes up, he's no longer in the healing chambers. Instead, he finds himself underneath the silk comforter of his King Chambers inside of his castle that he purchased from the WebSpinners in the Ghost Zone. He blinks his eyes slowly, trying to push away the fog clinging to his mind, as he carefully leaves himself into a sitting position.

He's wearing his royal pajamas, which feel like a soft, warm cloud is touching his skin. He sits in the sensation while taking one slow, deep breath. The King Chambers used to be Pariah Dark's old bedroom in his haunt, covered wall to wall with mounted body parts of his enemies.

It took Danny two whole years before he could make himself go in and clear everything out. He then had Poindexter hire a team of interior designers who brought to life Danny's human perspective of what he thought a castle should look like.

Granted, Danny's idea of a castle was a little clouded by all the movies he had seen with Kings and Queens, and it took some trial and error before the team figured out he considered French Chateaus as his ideal mental castle image. Now they informed that the Haunt would react to his will, and after spending hours and hours meditating to create a connection with his inherited haunt, Danny had shifted its shape from a gothic black stone medieval castle to a bright white break chateau.

He had even turned the environment from a ranging dark storm into an eternal winter wonderland. He glances at the two large windows of his room, taking in the gentle folds of white blankets across the ground as soft snow continues to fall.

His breath hitches at the beautiful sight, suddenly overcome with love for his gentle winter morning. Even though he had shifted the grounds into more welcoming walk gardens with undisrupted snow and pine trees, nothing was as beautiful as his Haunt's ice statues of his family and other beloved memories that decorated the pathways of his gardens.

Danny takes a few minutes to admire

A fire cracks within the room's fireplace, pulling him from his thoughts. He briefly considers it, memorizing the soft purple of its flames when the door is violently flung open. Standing in the doorway is a hurried-looking Poindexter whose arms are filled with various parchment, scrolls, and stacks of papers.

"Danno! You're awake!" He greets, rushing towards him with various items falling out of his arms. "Thank the Ancients. Can you please review these purchase orders?"

"What? No!" Danny groans, leaning away from the desperate-looking nerd who practically crawls across the bed while shoving scrolls at him. "I've been unconscious for a week! Why would your first instinct be to make me sign purchase orders? "

"I know, but ever since you acknowledged yourself as the Consort, that made your human side head of Hunt operation and management. You only gave me Manager rights as the King, but the spouse authority, which in this case is the Consort, goes over my clearance level, and I need to get these paid before the ghosts lose their patience and come ransack the castle!" Pointdexter snapped. "Why did you go around telling people you married yourself!? I thought wearing the Consort symbol was a weird metaphor for self-love and a declaration of staying unmarried, not that you actually married yourself! This is weird!"

Danny blinks, caught off guard by the usually calm ghost sneering in his face. "How....did you hear about all of this?"

Pointdexter sighs, falling back and, thankfully, out of Danny's personal bubble. "Everyone's heard about it since King Phantom popped up with you in his arms, which is a problem because only a select few from your early years knew you're a halfa - a secret we had spent years protecting, which is now much harder to do. Rumors are spreading that you even brought back a concubine! A concubine!"

"I'm sorry?"

"You should be! Do you know how many ghost territories have attempted to send a concubine as a gift and an effort to control the King's Court?! Nine hundred and fifty-three! I had to turn away each one with the flimsy excuse that the King wasn't present to turn them away himself."

"We have a Court?"

"We do now! Thanks to the existence of Consort Daniel Fenton!" Poindexter rubs the space between his eyes after taking off his glasses. "The worst part is that King Phantom returned to the human world to calm things down from his fit and left that human in the castle. The jerk has been snooping around and then had the audacity of acting like he's some idiot who isn't snooping. As if I haven't been the head of the Hunt security for four years!"

Danny raises a hand, feeling like that was too much information to process. Seeing the ghost go silent and wait as he tries to think is gratifying. Eventually, he hears himself ask, "What human?"

"Timothy Drake. He was the reason you and the King survived a core transfer."

"How?"

"He donated fractions of his soul in self-sacrifice to turn into pure ectoplasm that was used to piece together King Phantom from falling apart." Pointdexter sighs. "The only problem was the man did it in a pathetic attempt to keep the King from "raging war" against the humans, and now he can't leave the Hunt as a side effect of the ritual. The humans think we purposely stole him, and now everyone is scared that King Phantom has a taste for human flesh., and not in the cannibal way! And I have Purchase orders that are weeks overdue!"

There was a loud sound of horns from the outside before a man shouted, "Announcing the arrival of Sir John the Pure, a tribute to King Phantom to be used as a concubine. A gift from the Cosmos tribe."

Pointdexer throws his arms into the air, leaping off the bed and rushing out of the room. It's always hard to remember ghosts could not go through walls like the mortal world, but that at least means the large carriage, followed by marching men in knight suits, was forced to go slowly so as not to hit all his ice statues.

That did not mean the weird marching band was made entirely of fanfare; trumpets stopped blaring their song as they grew closer to the front door.

Danny could see them from his window, and he also saw the moment Drake faded through the second-floor wall, looking shocked- likely unaware he was the ghost in the ghost zone- before he face-planted on the ground below. A beautiful man leaps out of the carriage, rushing towards him, and were it not for his blue skin and stardust in his hair, Danny would have thought him human.

Pointdexer appears at the door, shouting something while the horns continue to play their stupid song.

Danny opens and closes his mouth before he grabs a pillow and screams into it.

This is the worst way to wake up.

[andhumanslovedstories]

i live in portland and i hadn’t even heard about the providence hcw strike. wishing you luck and success!

It's weirdly underreported considering how large of a strike it is! This is the largest healthcare strike in Oregon history, with almost 5,000 frontline workers. At that scale, the strike doesn't just affect Providence hospitals, it hits all the other hospitals in the system who now have to take on the patients that Providence can't. It has big implications for care across the state. AND this is the first strike which involves physicians. It is relatively easy (if expensive) to find enough scabs for nursing positions to keep hospitals limping along. There's nothing like that for physicians. Doctors don't typically strike, but it's becoming more common because they have horrendous working conditions.

Going into healthcare can be different than going into other fields. People use the word "calling" a lot. It feels like more than just a choice of profession. I find tremendous value in my work, and also it exposes me to so much emotional pain and moral distress. If I fuck up at work, someone might die. Even smaller mistakes can be horrible--oh my god, the guilt I have felt when I realize that a patient who can't advocate for themselves has been sitting in their own waste for who knows how long. There are easier jobs I could be doing that don't make me feel overwhelmed by moral distress.

American healthcare runs on people stretching themselves to their utmost limits. We know how important our work is. That sense of responsibility leads to people accepting poor working conditions. People need us! We could be doing something else! But if healthcare wants to run like a business, then the people working in it should act like any other employee, and everyone has the right to a workplace that doesn't make them want to kill themselves. Healthcare workers? We are out here disproportionately killing ourselves. Pay us better.

[poisonf0rest]

genuine question because youre one of my favorite writers, you seem to really have a thorough grasp of the characters: what do you see in rafayel that makes him appealing? i try to get past his entitled brattiness because i really want to enjoy all of the guys, but i cant see anything else. please help me understand 🥲

Oh boy, baby, darling, sweetheart, you opened a can of worms. Come do a little bit of character analysis with me~

About Rafayel:

Rafayel is a brat, yes. But that means he wears his heart on his sleeve, outright when he needs your attention or sulking when something is bothering him or faking a dramatic accident to get your attention. There's no silent guessing or fake "I'm fine's," just his overdramatic, raw emotion that's easy to read. He's has anxious attachment stemming from hundreds of years of betrayal and loss.

Rafayel is a romantic, a yearner. And yes, while I also agree his attitude was annoying at first I am very unfortunately into people who get on my nerves, especially when they are flirty and funny as well. I folded during his hospital scene.

Entitled? He is a god. He has been trying and failing to save his entire civilization for over 800 years and still simply can't because he refuses to hurt the one he loves. While all the boys have been through pain there's something about Rafayel's story that really gets me. I think it’s because if I— as mc— knew the sacrifice he was making, I would give myself up. So to have someone selfish enough to place me first is heartbreaking, devoted, and cruel. 

Also there are plenty of scenes where Rafayel is serious, especially if you read between the lines. The brattiness and sass is a playful cover to someone who's been through pain and understands it. Someone who chooses to still see joy and happiness in his life while fully understanding how cruel the world is.

Simply, I'm a sucker for doomed character archetypes. There is no version of Rafayel's and mc's story where they both end happy. Millions of people will die or if mc kills herself Rafayel will live forever as a husk of his former self. Using a sassy, filirty, bratty attitude to cover up such a genuinely depressing story is so juicy to me.

About Me:

I'm a Zayne irl. Work is honestly the most important thing to me outside my family, I'm devoted to my hobbies and leadership positions, and I have a close circle of friends I would do anything for. I'm also fucking hilarious subjective.

I'm the eldest sibling, the guard dog, the de-facto leader for almost everything. I'm the person who had to grow up fast, to parent my immigrant parents at times, who never made space for love, and who is by default independant and comfortable with it.

I prefer to listen-- I love my yapper friends. Don't get me wrong I can talk for hours about anything, but day to day I tend to get exhausted talking after a while so I surround myself with people who can do the easy talking for me.

My irl partner is a mix between Rafayel and Sylus I'd say. He's the one who pulls me out of my work spirals by nagging me until I give in, someone I'm comfortable yapping about my current hyperfixations too, someone who my inner child can come out to. But I also enjoy being a caregiver, that's always been my role and I relish in it, I like being relied upon as much as I appreciate having someone in my life that lets me take a step back. The only part that's Sylus is how his love language is bullying me and his vibe/looks lmao, but usually I am more into raf-stereotypical pretty boys.

So, overall, the appeal of Rafayel to those that choose him:

Rafayel is for the eldest daughters who needs their inner child to be free, who needs a little bit of ridiculousness and impulsiveness in their lives.

Rafayel is for those who never got praised for their effort or strength, for those who success was the only option, who had to be perfect, reliable and serious all the time. He makes it so clear how much simply being with you means to him, constantly complimenting, flirting, and reassuring you just how much he needs you. Showing you how obsessed with you he is.

Rafayel is for those who didn't think love had a place in their lives due to shit family or life circumstances. He proves time and time again that you're the only one he loves. Even though he's lived forever, you were worth the wait and that he would wait again for you, no matter how long it takes. He proves you can be loved, and that it comes easy.

Rafayel is for those who always placed others first. He's more than willing to show you again and again you will always be first in his mind. He needs you more than he does water. Sure, you can take care of him, but he wants to be with you and take care of you, too.

Rafayel is for those who need someone else to drag them out of work/school/spiralling even when they don't want to admit it, bringing in laughter, color, and a little bit of dramatics.

Rafayel is for creators who dedicate themselves to their craft, who are scared of losing this "spark," who want to get better but constantly feel that what they create isn't enough or must be more. 

Rafayel is for hopeless romantics, those that go out of their way to surprise their friends during their birthdays, those who plan platonic dates for those they care about, those who put out so much love into the world and suddenly break when they get that love back.

Rafayel is for those used to having little siblings or those to take care of in our lives. Only while Rafayel relishes in the attention, he's also ready to give it back five-fold.

Rafayel is a switch for switch (brat for brat) lmao. He's for those who like to start on top, teasing and pushing his buttons to get all those cute reactions out of him, just until he breaks. Then he can take control and finish us up. We love vocal men.

Maybe projecting, but Rafayel is the perfect bi-girl's boyfriend. He's a classic pretty boy, unafraid to be in touch with his feminine side, a little dramatic, a little artsy. But he's also super romantic, sensitive, loving, and intense. And gosh, who could say no to those big puppy eyes?

I could probably continue to talk about Rafayel for hours, but ya, hopefully this helps answer why I and others love this man. Just continue on with the main story and read between the lines with his dialogue and I'm sure you'll pick up on it too~

[alexrosa13]

Valentine's Favourites

Zayne x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: 2k words, nonsexual nudity

Note: fanfiction for my Valentine's Event

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

← how Greyson is doing? ★ continuation of the evening →

~★~

Your two weeks of vacation started, you and Zayne left Linkon City to travel, taking a break from your usual routine and spending more time together. After another day full of love and joy you found yourself sitting on a lovely evening dinner with your lover, the night taking an unexpected turn...

You didn't expect much, just a nice, relaxing vacation in a place far away from people, work, chores - you both needed that time for yourself.

Your lover made sure to plan the trip from A to Z, not letting you lift a finger, the only thing you had to do was to pack your stuff (and he helped with that too). You felt spoiled with his love and care and to be honest, you enjoyed that very very much.

The first days of your getaway were calm, you were finally able to fall asleep and wake up at his side, without him rushing to the hospital before you wake up, or coming back after you were already asleep.

You enjoyed sleeping in, cooking breakfast together still in your pajamas, eating lunch under the gazebo in the garden of the house you stayed in, and swimming in the nearby lake.

Everyday you woke up to the birds singing outside of the window, cuddled up with Zayne under the covers, but today was different. You woke up alone, the sheets next to you ruffled, you still felt the lingering warmth of another human body next to you, but your lover was nowhere in sight.

Not thinking much of it you closed your eyes, staying comfy under the covers. He probably left for the bathroom and will be right back with you. Unnoticed by you ten minutes went by, turning into twenty...

Through the sleepiness you heard the door softly creaking with someone walking into the room.

Soon you felt a kiss placed on the top of your head, you let out a soft groan, finally saying goodbye to the soft embrace of sleep.

Your eyes half opened, Zayne sat down next to your body on the edge of the bed, slowly caressing your arm through the covers.

"Good morning." your morning voice made the corners of his lips turn upwards. Your nose picked up a smell of pancakes which made you turn your head towards the night stand, seeing a tray with delicious looking food placed there.

"Made you some breakfast." your lover said with his usual calm tone, but you could feel the warm in his voice, and see the love in his eyes.

"You're spoiling me." you laughed softly, sitting up and reaching up to hold his face in your palms, without protest he let you bring his face to yours, linking your lips in a gentle kiss that lasted for a minute or two.

You pulled back, with your hands still resting on his cheeks, your thumbs tracing random symbols on his skin. Moving yourself completely from under the sheets you let your body lean on his, your head resting on his torso.

His hand came to stroke your hair, gently undoing some of the tangles he found there.

"Will you feed me too?" you ask jokingly, not expecting him to follow through with your request, but to your shock he reaches out to the plate, soon bringing the fork with the food on it to your mouth.

You giggled and took the bite he offered, another kiss landed on your forehead, this day couldn't start any better. What did you do in your past life to deserve that man?

"Thank you my love." your voice stopped being raspy, you finally felt fully awakened, but your life still felt like a dream.

"My pleasure." he answered, continuing to feed you your breakfast, sometimes you made him take a bite too.

After you were done eating you decided to take a shower and pull your boyfriend with you, he complied without any objection, and soon enough you were hugging, bare, with water running all over your bodies. You spend minutes just standing there in each other's embrace, sometimes sneaking a kiss or two, sometimes his fingers moved slowly to tickle your sides, which earned him a gentle slap on the torso and your giggle.

Once you were both cleaned up he helped you dry your body up with a towel, with you doing the same for him. He picked up your underwear and kneeled before you to help you step into your panties, giving your legs soft kisses in the meantime, seconds later he helped you put on your bra, clasping it for you.

While you reached for your toothbrush he put on his underwear and joined you before the sink.

Another relaxing day for you started, you spend time doing the things you enjoy with no rush, to finish them up before work or before going to sleep to make sure you get enough rest.

Around 4 pm Zayne said that he'll prepare today's dinner and wants you to relax until then, which you agreed to after 'arguing' for a moment because he was doing everything for you today, like you were some princess needing someone to take care of all the basic chores for you.

It was two hours later when you heard soft knocking on the door of the bedroom you were currently in.

"Yes?" you turned your head towards the sound, but the doors remained closed.

With a sigh you stood up from the bed, walking over to the door and opening them, your eyes landed on the flower petals scattered all around the corridor floor, leading down the stairs. To say that you were confused would be an understatement.

You knew that your boyfriend was a romantic at heart, but that gesture felt so... Special? When did he even find the time to do that? How did you not hear him walking around while preparing this?

Curious, you made your way down the flower path, the house wasn't well lightened, but enough for you to make your way down safely, although your steps were slow and careful, observing the blue and white petals under your feet.

Soon enough you were standing before the entrance to the garden, the doors wide open, letting the breeze from outside make it's way into the house. Before the doors you noticed your shoes, ones that matched your today's outfit perfectly. You couldn't help but smile, second later putting them on.

You walked out of the house, the flowers in the garden sway softly to the wind, it was a pleasantly warm evening, in the distance you could see the water in the lake moving slowly, noticing the petals on the path leading to the gazebo hidden behind the green of the trees and bushes, you made your way down the stone path, your shoes clicking against it, gentle wind made the petals move around a bit, in an hour or so they will probably find themselfs lying around the grass, decorating it.

Slowly you came closer to your destination and the sight of it made your eyes widen in surprise.

The white gazebo was decorated with what looked like a hundred little lamps, lit candles around the ground and on the wooden railing, some finding themselves in the middle of the table, next to the flowers and two plates with your favorite dish.

You were staring, your breath taken from you, he did all of this for you? You heard quiet footsteps from behind you, knowing fully well who that was you didn't turn around, instead still admiring the work he put into all of this.

"I believe that it is to your liking." you heard his gentle voice from behind you.

"Are you kidding me? Zayne it's... It's beautiful..." you laughed softly, the joy in your voice accompanied the vulnerability you felt at the moment, you didn't even know why that was, you just felt this way. Maybe the thought that he put so much effort just to make you happy was what made this moment so special?

"I'm glad you think so." his voice became quieter, as if he took a step back from you.

You turned around, wanting to embrace and thank him for loving you but then...

Your breathing was cut short once more. Your heart stopped beating for a moment before you felt it racing in your chest. Tears appeared in your eyes, your hand went to your mouth to muffle a sob.

He was kneeling before you, a hopeful look in his eyes together with slight worry hidden in them, in his hands the most beautiful ring you ever saw.

"I had a whole speech prepared but you deserve something more than dull words memorized in my head like something I have to remember for work." his voice was steady, but you could hear the vulnerability in his tone "I wish to wake up and fall asleep with you by my side everyday, to have silly moments in the kitchen when preparing food, not caring about the outside world seeing that 'unprofessional' sides of us, the sides reserved only for each other. I'm falling harder and harder for you with everyday spent together. There are no words able to express my gratitude for you showing up in my life, making yourself at home in my heart and living in my head twenty four hours a day. If only you'll let me become your husband, to be able to call you my wife... I would be the happiest man in the world, to be able to forever stay by your side."

You were crying at this point. Your body shaking with emotions and happiness. Your hands went up to wipe your tears, your eyes focused on his that were looking at you like you were a goddess that hung the stars, the one and only person he wished to stay close to and cherish every day.

"Is this really happening..." you giggled through sobs, so many emotions overwhelming you. He looked at you and smiled softly, before asking the final question.

"My love. Will you marry me?" he stayed on one knee, presenting you the ring, you already knew your answer.

"Yes, yes, of course I will Zayne..." you didn't waste another second, taking a step closer to him and crouching down to embrace him tightly.

Instantly his arms came to hug you, keeping you close, he moved you to sit on his thigh, your head hid in his shoulder. Your sobs continued, tears wetting his shirt, but he didn't care.

You watched as he took your hand in his, carefully putting the ring onto your finger, the sign of your love for everyone to see.

You calmed down a bit, you both admired the jewelry on your finger, your hearts beating with happiness, wanting to embrace themselves through your chests.

After some minutes passed, he helped you stand up, his hands embracing yours, he pulled them gently towards his lips, kissing both of your palms, lingering a little bit longer on the left one.

"Thank you." he whispered, gazing into your eyes, still shining from tears.

"I should be the one to thank you." you laughed softly, with the most happy smile he ever saw on you. The wind made your hair sway softly, you were so beautiful.

"No, I'm the one who just got the promise of eternity from a woman who holds my heart in her embrace everyday, nothing would ever be enough of a 'thank you' for your love." his forehead came to gently rest on yours, you closed your eyes, taking his face into your hands while his found their place on your waist.

"I love you." was the only thing on your mind, you kissed him, your lips dancing together slowly in a passionate display of your feelings. He could taste the salty tears, kissing them all away.

The food may become cold before you get to eating it, but it didn't matter right now, your joined happiness being the only thing you cared about.

[maikelfist]

@chimneyz encouraged me to come off anon and take credit for my horny headcanon and I thought I'd do it by turning it into a fanfic. This kind of ran away from me. It was supposed to be quick and smutty but sweet, achy feels managed to sneak in, culminating into a pretty unhinged combination of tags. Don’t even ask. If you’re in the mood for hurt/comfort and self-indulgent smut this is for you. You can find it on ao3 here:

The Mechanisms of Pain Relief

BuckTommy | 9k | rated: E

Summary:

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected. What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury. Or: Tommy takes care of Buck and Buck is overwhelmed in so many ways.

Symptoms of a concussion may include headaches, dizziness, confusion, sensitivity to light and noise, fatigue, sleep disturbances, memory problems, slowed reaction time, irritability, anxiety, depression and sensitivity to stress.

If you experience any of these symptoms worsening, you should speak to your healthcare provider.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected.

What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury.

Tommy’s heart stops for a moment when Eddie’s text comes through, and he doesn’t even wait for his supervisor’s approval when requesting time off work to rush to the hospital. This isn’t like a dislocated shoulder, where it makes more sense to wait until his shift ends to check on Evan, no matter how agitated he felt at the time. This is much more serious.

A sigh of relief escapes Tommy’s lungs as he steps into the observation unit and sees Evan awake, propped up in bed. Evan’s face is pale but relaxed under the fluorescent lights. A bandage covers the treated head wound, and the sunglasses perched on his nose—definitely Eddie’s—give him an oddly fashionable look despite the circumstances. Blocking the harsh hospital light in style. The tension in Tommy’s shoulders eases slightly when Evan greets Tommy with a sleepy, sedated smile and the reassurance that it’s “not too serious of a concussion.” CT scans have been done and pain relief has been given.

“Don’t even need to stay the night… pr-probably,” Evan continues, his speech more slurred than Tommy would like. “I-I told Eddie it’s not a big deal. Head wounds are a lot worse than they look.” Evan pauses, confusion flickering across his face before he corrects himself. “No, wait. Other way ‘round.” He thinks for a moment, visibly rearranging the words in his head, taking longer than necessary. “They look worse than they are!” Evan exclaims with more energy, pleased that he got it right. “The head has so many blood vessels that—that even a small cut can look like… like a crime scene… b-but it’s usually not that bad—”

"Evan." Even when he keeps his voice low, Tommy delivers the name with a seriousness that he knows will make Evan pause, hold his breath for a moment. "How long until you can leave?" Tommy has hundreds of other questions on his mind, but he doesn’t want to put any strain on Evan. He’ll squeeze out all the information he needs from Eddie later.

“Uh… they said they wanted to watch me for a couple of hours. I-I don’t know how long it’s been. Eddie will know. He wanted to—he’s…” Even with only half of his face visible, it’s clear that Evan is scrunching it up in puzzlement. “Water!” he exclaims after a few seconds, as if the word had just clicked into place. “He’s getting me more water.” Evan slowly turns his head toward the entry, as if mentioning Eddie's name might make him return more quickly. When Evan realizes that no one is standing there yet, he shifts his gaze back to Tommy. A dopey smile spreads across his lips. “They asked me if… if I had someone who could take care of me at home.” Evan sluggishly lifts his arm, fingers bumping into the back of Tommy’s hand before he manages to take it, his grip weak but warm. “I said yes.”

Tommy’s chest tightens, a mix of relief and affection flooding him as he squeezes Evan’s hand gently. He isn’t sure whether to feel glad or disappointed that Evan is wearing shades. On one hand, it’s good that the sunglasses are providing Evan with some comfort, but on the other, he’d give anything to see those sunny eyes of his—the ones that have the power to melt him inside and leave him weak in the knees. Right now, Tommy knows he needs to be strong for Evan, but he can’t help giving in to the widening grin on Evan’s face, returning it with a soft smile of his own. He brings Evan’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Evan hit his head on a car door. That’s the short version of the story. Eddie almost makes it sound like a slapstick sketch with how casually he remarks on it. Tommy knows, though, that Eddie’s calm demeanor is just a cover for how worried he is. Tommy knows that feeling all too well.

The full story is far less comedic. Two cars collided, leaving one severely damaged. It ended up wedged against a concrete barrier, with the passenger side crumpled like tissue paper. Thankfully, the father and son had been seated on the driver's side, and they managed to pull the unconscious father through the broken windshield. Extracting the son was more difficult. The child, sitting in the back seat, was trapped by twisted metal around the rear door, crying, panicking and in pain from a broken leg.

Evan was tasked with prying open the car door using a hydraulic spreader. He placed it between the door frame and the car body and began to apply pressure. The metal was severely bent and difficult to move—until it suddenly gave way. With a loud cracking sound, the door swung open so abruptly that Evan lost his footing and fell face-first into the swinging metal, a sharp edge striking his temple. The force was so strong that it cracked Evan's helmet.

Tommy’s stomach churns as he listens to Eddie’s retelling. Seeing Evan in his patched-up state is already bad enough; Tommy can’t picture what a terrifying sight he must have been to their friends—unconscious, blood gushing from the wound down his face, soaking into his clothes and hair. He doesn't even want to imagine what Evan's head would have looked like if he hadn't been wearing protection.

Eddie says he’s pretty sure Evan put too much pressure on the spreader, trying to get the boy out as quickly as possible.

Tommy doesn’t give in to the urge to rub his eyes. Instead, he quietly jokes, “Well, kids are a weakness of his.”

Eddie exhales a humorless puff of air in reply. “Yeah.”

They are whispering back and forth in Evan’s kitchen, the only illumination coming from the faint streaks of light peeking through the edges of the closed blinds, loft darkened to keep the fading day from hurting Evan’s eyes and allowing him to sleep peacefully upstairs. 

“Hey,” Eddie adds softly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hoping the lack of light conceals the awkwardness of it. “You really don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway. How many of your vacation days did you use to get two weeks off work? Just to be stuck in the Bat Cave?”

“You’ll keep us alive by providing us with food and supplies, so who’s the real Batman here?” “I think that makes me Alfred.”

"Who has been called Batman’s Batman," Tommy points out, raising a finger at Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, we’re both awesome,” Eddie relents, batting the finger away. “I’m just saying, I… I would’ve looked after him at my place, but I just got Christopher back and I don’t think it would be good for him to see Buck like this, so…”

“I get it. You can count on me, all of you.”

“Well, except that one time,” Eddie drawls.

There will likely never be a time when Tommy won't feel shame when reminded of how he ran away from Evan out of fear of getting hurt. At the same time, it floods him with relief knowing that Eddie and the others are casual enough about it to use it as roasting material. He would listen to their quips every day if it meant being with Evan. However, that doesn’t mean he will just take it lying down. “Yeah, we all need to make a monumentally stupid mistake once to learn not to do it again, right, Eddie?”

The blow makes Eddie close his eyes for a moment, and Tommy can practically see the Kim fiasco flashing behind them. When Eddie opens his eyes again, Tommy is met with an unimpressed look. “You’re lucky this ended well for both of us.”

Fond amusement quirks Tommy’s mouth. “So are you. And this will turn out well for Evan, too. Alright?” Tommy assures Eddie.

The first genuine smile of the day brushes across Eddie’s lips, so small that it's nearly unnoticeable. “Yeah. Alright.”

Shoulder bumps turn to hugs turn to goodbyes. Tommy holds the door open, promising to regularly send Eddie updates, lists of groceries and other things he needs from his own place, while Eddie swears he’ll come by as often as possible. When the door closes, Tommy listens for a moment until he can no longer hear Eddie’s muffled footsteps. Then he turns to face the dark.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The recovery time is a bit of a whirlwind. Or rather, a tornado.

Tommy learns to navigate Evan's loft almost blindly because he refuses to turn on any of the bright lights at night. Who thought open-space architecture was a good idea? The evening he broke up with Evan was filled with many moments that make him shake his head—mostly at himself—but Evan asking him to move into a place that was essentially one big room was certainly one of them. Then again, even through walls, Tommy feels an odd sense of guilt whenever he has to make a sound louder than his toothbrush. It will probably be a while before he stops cringing every time he needs to flush the toilet.

The stairs end up being Tommy's biggest source of stress. Through eye contact alone, Tommy knew that he and Eddie were on the same page about the desire to simply carry Evan up the stairs and into bed if Evan hadn’t insisted on climbing them himself. Instead, Eddie led the way, walking backward and holding on to Evan's arms, with Tommy behind Evan, hands on his back, ready to catch them both. 

Tommy keeps having nightmare visions of Evan stumbling and falling down the stairs or over the railing. He considers taking Evan’s bed apart and moving it to the lower level, but their current situation isn’t exactly ideal for playing IKEA. Not for the first time, he curses his neighbors for having the most obnoxiously noisy construction work done on their house at the worst possible time. Otherwise, he would take care of Evan at his place. As it stands, he plans to keep Evan as far away from the stairs as possible until he’s healed.

Thankfully, it seems to be quite easy to look after Evan, his dizziness and confusion turning him pliant and receptive to Tommy's care. Tommy ensures that Evan stays in bed, always having water and Tylenol within arm's reach so he can remain hydrated and pain-free, and regularly prepares light, nutritious meals for him—though, trying to make sandwiches by the dim light of the open refrigerator is certainly an experience. He tends to Evan's wounds with gentle hands, is by his side when he takes a bath, washes and combs his hair, and stands by the closed but unlocked door whenever Evan needs to go to the bathroom, ready to help if needed. Evan sleeps a lot, but rarely a full night’s worth in one session, waking up every couple of hours, and Tommy is there to give him whatever he needs or simply keep him company.

His demeanor softened by the lingering haze of his injury, Evan soaks up all the attention and care Tommy gives him, and Tommy is more than willing to provide it. Evan is sweet and easy, and Tommy really should have learned from Billie Boils' “curse” that it wouldn’t stay that way.

After a couple of days, dizziness turns to irritation. Evan keeps getting up from the bed, desperate to move, run around, exercise, and he argues till his head aches when Tommy tries to coax him back to bed.

After getting the okay from Buck’s doctor, Tommy researches suitable activities for someone with a concussion and begins to incorporate light, slow seated stretching and range-of-motion exercises into their daily routine. They don’t work out for very long, only a couple of minutes at a time, until Evan realizes this isn’t what his body actually wants while it’s healing.

Tommy can tell what Evan misses the most is going outside and running in the park, but since that’s not possible, Tommy tries to bring the park to him. One afternoon, they lie in bed together, both of their eyes closed, as Tommy tries to create scenarios for Evan to imagine.

He describes the scene in a soft, soothing voice, painting a picture of clouds drifting overhead, leaves rustling in the wind, and even attempts to mimic the sound of the breeze, puffing out his cheeks and blowing air through his lips.

Evan cracks one eye open, unimpressed. “Your wind sound is almost as bad as your fake mouth static.”

Determined to make up for his apparently less-than-convincing sound effects, Tommy pulls up a video of city park ambience for relaxation, which turns out to be a huge mistake.

"I miss my phone," Evan whines behind his hands as the pads of his fingers rub his eyes in frustration, having remembered that the internet, with all its vast knowledge, exists.

"You're not allowed to look at screens, you know that," Tommy retorts, his voice gentle yet firm, as he lies on his side on the bed next to Evan, propping up his head with his hand.

Evan lets his hands thump to the pillow next to his head, his face sulky and disgruntled. “But I want to know how big jellyfish can get!”

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly and he can feel amusement tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Why?”

"I had a dream about an ancient god-like jellyfish the size of a whale. It talked to me but I forgot what it said," Evan says, arms crossed and pouting, as if the universe itself has wronged him.

The largest known jellyfish apparently belonged to the Lion's Mane species, boasting a bell diameter of 7 feet and tentacles around 120 feet long—if one can trust the Wikipedia article which Tommy slowly reads to Evan. Normal research often sends Evan spiraling down a never-ending rabbit hole of information. However, Tommy is happy to discover that research-via-boyfriend, listening to the calm, deep rumble of his voice, helps Evan fall asleep.

The research bouts aren't the only way Tommy engages Evan's mind. A nurse advised Tommy to regularly assess Evan's cognitive function. Initially, Tommy tries using crossword puzzles and simple math problems, but Evan quickly becomes bored. So, Tommy starts asking questions to jog Evan's memories—about birthdays, how their friends take their coffee, recipes and special events.

"What was the first city I flew Eddie to?" Tommy asks, fingers brushing through Evan’s curls as he’s sitting behind him on the bed, Evan leaning against his chest.

Evan grumbles, "I have a concussion, not amnesia."

"Do you know the answer or not?" Tommy presses.

"Vegas, and I also remember that you stood me up for it," Evan says, lifting his chin defiantly to look at him with accusatory eyes. 

"You did get to buy me a beer later.”

Scorn tinges Evan’s voice. “Oh, it feels so good to be a second priority.”

Tommy stifles a sigh, managing to keep a straight face. "What was the name of the restaurant we went to on our first date?"

"Abandon-me-at-the-fronteria."

Laughter threatens to break out of Tommy's chest but he suppresses it as well, pressing his lips together and burying his face into Evan’s hair. Evan can be really fucking funny when he's acting like a brat, Tommy will give him that. That’s not a compliment Tommy should ever say out loud, though.

"Close enough," Tommy deadpans.

Eddie isn’t spared either during his visits. One time, he foolishly believes that Evan would be interested in hearing about the science project he’s working on with Cristopher and how well it’s coming along, only to throw a startled look at Tommy when Evan replies with a curt, “Good to know you’re having so much fun without me.”

Eddie texts him later.

Eddie: Please tell me he doesn’t act like that all the time

Tommy: He does sleep occasionally

Eddie: I bet you fluff his pillows and tuck him in after he curses your ancestors

Tommy: Don’t forget the kiss on the forehead

Eddie: You have the patience of a saint, man

Tommy: You’re patient with him too

Eddie: Because I get to leave

Tommy: I very much plan on screaming into a pillow when I can be loud again

Eddie: TMI

Laughter spills out of Tommy, and he just finishes replying with an emoji wearing a halo when Evan pipes up, “Rub it in my face that I can’t talk to anyone, why don’t you.”

“You just talked to Eddie.”

“That’s not the same.”

Tommy spends the rest of the evening catching Evan up on the 118 group chat, reading messages aloud and typing out Evan’s replies. Unable to resist, he puts on a different impression for each person—like a deep and steady tone for Bobby or a high, nurturing one for Maddie. He keeps it up until Evan starts to complain about his headache getting worse.

Not everything they do requires patience. In fact, there is one moment in particular that will forever be etched in Tommy's memory as one of the happiest of his life.

Only a small light in the living room is on, casting a warm, indirect glow up to the bedroom on the upper floor. Tommy has Evan in his arms, giving him support, and they're gently swaying back and forth, Tommy humming the melody of a song whose title has slipped his mind, intermingled with nonsensical lyrics he only half recalls. Slow dancing counts as low impact exercise, right?

Evan seems to agree, judging by the way he happily sighs into Tommy's neck, his warm, wet breath sending shivers down Tommy's spine.

If heaven exists, and if Tommy were allowed in, this is what it would feel like.

Until Evan starts kissing his neck. Tommy mindlessly leans his head back, giving Evan more room to explore Tommy's skin with his mouth. Evan's movements become more heated and demanding, and Tommy hisses when Evan bites a bruise into his throat. Only when Evan begins to open the buttons of his shirt does Tommy put up any resistance.

"Evan..." Tommy half-heartedly tries to push him away. "Evan, we can't—not yet."

Evan keeps clinging to Tommy and insists, "Come on. It's been so long. I'm almost healed." Nuzzling into the spot where neck meets shoulder, his breath comes hot and uneven against the sensitive skin. Fingers fumble with the buttons of Tommy’s shirt, lips trailing downward until they reach the coarse curls of his chest hair. Evan buries his face into the dip between Tommy’s pecs, inhaling deeply and moaning as if intoxicated by the scent.

The sensation sends a flush of warmth through Tommy, electric currents racing up his spine. He can feel himself getting hard in his pants at a speed that makes him dizzy, his body betraying him even as his mind fights to stay in control. Still, he doesn’t budge. "Almost isn't fully." 

He tugs at Evan's hair to lift his head, which in hindsight isn’t a great idea—Evan moans at the feeling, a soft, involuntary sound that sends a jolt of heat straight to Tommy’s core. Evan follows Tommy's lead for a moment, but then leans in, pressing his forehead against Tommy's. "Tommy, please," he begs, his voice barely above a whisper, plush lips brushing his. "I need you." The yearning in his voice reverberates in Tommy’s chest, and it’s just as delicious as the feeling of their bodies rubbing together when Evan starts to grind against him.

It’s impossible not to entertain all the vivid images flooding Tommy’s mind. It would be so easy to give in. They could be gentle. Tommy could blow him or ride him or hold on to Evan’s spread legs as he carefully rocks into him, letting Evan do nothing but lie there and look pretty, his breath hitching and thighs trembling as Tommy surrenders to his wishes, gives him what he wants. Evan’s back would arch, his hands gripping the sheets, and his moans would fill the room as he throws his head back in pleasure—

"No." Tommy tears himself away, allowing no contact between them. His voice has been in quiet mode for almost two weeks now, so his rejection comes across as startlingly loud, despite it still being softer than his usual conversational volume.

The ceiling lights don’t have to be on for Tommy to know that big, fat tears are starting to well up in Evan's eyes. The wet huff escaping his lips and the way he hugs himself tell Tommy enough.

"I don’t actually need you, you know?" Evan spits, voice corrosive with acidity and venom. "I can take care of myself. You can't stop me."

A pit wants to open in Tommy’s stomach, and he’s holding it together by sheer force of will. 

Evan doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean it. This isn’t about you.

Tommy closes his eyes for a second, as if that could help him ignore the ache in his chest, and reminds himself to breathe. Squaring his shoulders, he focuses on the situation at hand. Part of him actually wants to try to stop Evan, but he knows he won't win this fight. 

"Be careful then,” Tommy says, his voice purposely steady. “Make sure to do it lying down. And don't finger yourself. Your coordination isn't quite there yet, and you could move your head too much trying to get the right angle."

The next sound leaving Evan's mouth is less of a huff and more of a snarl. "Fine. Have it your way." Evan takes off his clothes and climbs onto the bed, all of his movements filled with spite, uncoordinated as they may be.

Tommy picks up the clothes that Evan has haphazardly thrown across the room and says, in the calmest voice he can muster, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The short, bitter laugh that bursts from Evan makes him realize how unfortunate his word choice has been.

"I’d say the same, but clearly you don’t need me,” Evan talks back, his tone dripping with resentment. “So I’ll just stay here, all by myself, moaning and begging for it."

Tommy balls his fists into the clothes he’s carrying to keep himself from arguing about how wrong Evan is. That wouldn’t actually be doing Evan any favors right now. He doesn’t mean it. Instead, he feigns an unaffected hum. "Have fun."

The pillow Evan throws at him nearly makes it to the lower floor, but Tommy manages to catch it just in time. He drops Evan's shorts in the process, but oh well—Tommy takes a deep breath—he can just pick them up again.

Tommy puts the pillow back in its place, unable to resist stealing a glance at Evan, who lets out a performative moan when he wraps his hand around himself. Tommy quickly averts his gaze and hurries down the stairs.

If Tommy spends longer than necessary in the bathroom, that is between him and the sink. And the floor. And Evan’s shirt, which he presses to his face, inhaling deeply and moaning into the fabric as the muffled, exaggerated sounds of pleasure from upstairs make his stomach twist with arousal and longing. He's just here to do laundry, that’s all.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens, and sometimes one of them is stuck in bed for entirely different reasons, needing the other to care for them while they're recovering.

That makes it all the sweeter when the doctor finally gives Evan the green light to return to normal.

They could just attack each other's lips and exchange blowjobs or handjobs for quick relief when they get home. Evan could fuck him. Tommy would be more than happy to spread his legs for Evan and let him do as he pleases. But he knows that's not what Evan wants right now. Once Evan gets his hands on him, he will want all of him. Once he gets his hands on Evan, he will want to give him all.

‘All of him” requires some work, though. If Evan gets fucked regularly, he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, Evan has joked—multiple times.

However, when there's a long break, Evan needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again, similar to what they did when he made love to Evan the first time—good hydration, some stretching and breathing exercises, a hot bath to relax Evan's muscles and ensure he's nice and thoroughly clean.

Tommy starts by massaging Evan's back, digging his fingers into his shoulders and along the curve of his spine until Evan groans. He tries to keep it relaxing for Evan, but soon Evan begins to wiggle, urging Tommy to hurry up. Evan demands it knowing that Tommy won't.

It's moments like these when Tommy enjoys teasing Evan's hole with his fingers without ever actually entering it for a while. Instead, he taps, strokes, pulses and circles around it until the ring starts to pulsate as if trying to draw him in—until it remembers him. 

Evan has gone through his prep routine, and now it's time for Tommy to go through his, which involves tongue and finger-fucking Evan until he's crying and begging into the pillow.

He licks and sucks at Evan’s hole, devouring it like it’s candy and moaning at the taste. Excess saliva fills Evan up from the inside, dripping down his taint and balls, making him even wetter than he already is. Tommy spits on it for good measure. 

When it’s not Tommy’s lips and tongue teasing Evan—his stubble providing a fine rasp against sensitive skin—it’s his fingers pumping and scissoring inside him, massaging his prostate regularly but nowhere near enough for Evan’s liking. Every now and then, Tommy hooks both his index and middle fingers into Evan, spreading him wide so he can push and flick his tongue into the gaping opening.

Tommy is scraping together the last remnants of his patience for this, and he has no idea where they’re coming from, other than the knowledge that he doesn’t want to hurt Evan.

And maybe, just maybe, he wants to chastise Evan’s hole for having forgotten him.

"Tommy, I can't," Evan whines, punching the mattress with his fist in a pitiful release of frustration. "I need it so bad! Come on, give it to me—"

Tommy must be closer to his breaking point than expected, and he only realizes it when he hears a loud smack followed by Evan throwing his head back and fucking yelling at the top of his lungs. With a startled flutter of his lashes, Tommy registers what just happened.

He just spanked Evan's hole.

There's a moment of stillness as Tommy tries his damned best to assess the situation based on Evan's reaction. Then Evan turns his head, and Tommy catches a glimpse of his beautiful face—red and splotchy to the point where his birthmarks are almost invisible, with pillow creases marking his skin and lashes damp with tears. Both his lips and eyes are shiny, red and wide open with surprise and something that Tommy would like to call wonder.

"Was that okay?" Tommy asks, his voice extra gentle as if to compensate for what he just did.

A shivery, wet exhale flows from Evan’s lungs before his arms give out and his head falls back onto the pillow. Tommy can still see Evan’s pretty profile, and it takes him a moment to realize that the way Evan is rubbing his face into the fabric is meant to be a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that was okay,” Evan whispers.

"You want more?" Another nod. That wouldn't do. "Words, Evan."

A kittenish noise escapes Evan and he starts squirming again. "Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy, I want more." Evan stretches his back and lifts his ass, as if he thinks he needs to bring his hole closer to sway Tommy.

A ball of arousal tightens its grip on Tommy's insides before bursting, sending bolts of intoxicating pleasure through his body. It's reminiscent of the rush he feels when he's flying—that swooping thrill so addictive in nature one can't help but crave to relive it again and again. As Tommy's eyes flutter shut, he takes a moment to savor the sensation, his mind already replaying the sight and sound of his boyfriend trying to entice him—and succeeding. God, Evan is exquisite. Always, of course, but especially when he falls into a mood like this.

Tommy takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. He needs his bearings for what's to come.

"Evan." Tommy's hands settle on Evan's waist, his thumbs lightly digging into the curve of his spine as he holds him steady. He trails his fingers along the line of his back, shaping Evan’s form to his liking and making him arch prettily. Tommy’s body follows the upward motion of his hands until he can speak into Evan’s ear, attempting nonchalance, though the rasp in his throat betrays him as he asks, “How many days has it been since I last fucked you?” “Seventeen,” Evan replies without a moment's hesitation, a breathless hitch in his voice revealing his anticipation. The corners of Tommy’s lips curl up at that. Of course Evan would know the answer. Tommy could probably ask him about the hours, the minutes, the temperature, and Evan would fondly reminisce about the last time Tommy's cock was buried in his ass, down to the very last detail. Over the past two weeks, Evan hasn’t answered any of Tommy’s questions with as much eagerness as this one. Cognitive function? Check.

“And why is that?”

“C-cause I got hurt?” 

Evan’s reply is endearingly timid, which is why Tommy doesn’t tsk before he retorts, “Close, but no. Try again.”

A miserable little mewl escapes Evan’s mouth, disappointed that he didn’t get it right the first time. Happier noises start filling the room—musical, airy notes—when Tommy’s dick finds the cleft of Evan’s ass. “Please—” Evan starts begging, distracted by the contact. Tommy’s grip on Evan’s shoulders tightens before he can lose himself completely. “Evan. Evan,” he repeats with more force when Evan continues to writhe. “Try again.”

Evan fusses and hides his face in the pillow once more, his voice muffled as he admits, “Cause I was careless.”

Evan's curls feel damp as Tommy begins to stroke them. The gentle touch gives Evan the courage to glance at him again from the corner of his eye. Tommy leans in and kisses his cheek, cooing, "Good boy, Evan." Another one of Evan’s sweet sounds chimes through the air, but Tommy doesn’t let him bask in the praise for too long. He continues, "Yes, you were careless. But that's not the reason either."

"Wha—why then?" Genuine confusion furrows Evan's brows, and he pouts in a way that Tommy can only describe with one word: adorable, adorable, adorable.

Tommy leans in, his forehead touching Evan’s temple, careful of the healing wound there, and nuzzles against Evan’s cheek. “Because you’re precious and I had to be gentle with you. Wanted to be, so you can heal properly.” His tone shifts from soft explanation to a husky tease, a wicked, feral edge creeping into his words when he rasps, “But I can be rough with you now, can’t I, Evan?”

Pouting lips part to release a floating, weak little gasp, followed by a needy, “Yes, pleasepleaseplease—”

Tommy plants a quick kiss on the corner of Evan’s mouth to quiet him before continuing, “You know what that means?” Evan shakes his head as best as he can. “I will give you seventeen hits, baby boy, one for each day we couldn’t do this.” Tommy emphasizes the last word with a thrust, making Evan moan eagerly. “And you will count them all and say ‘thank you, Daddy’ after each one. Alright?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you, Daddy, yes—” “After I spank your hole, Evan, not before.” Tommy lets sweet condescension drip from his tongue, underlining the lewdness of the words, ensuring he voices what Evan is begging for out loud.

Another high-pitched mewl leaves Evan, followed by a distraught cry as Tommy pulls himself away from him. Tommy keeps one of his hands on Evan's back to prevent him from following his movements. “Stay.”

Evan goes still, except for his fists kneading the sheets, desperate to release his pent up energy somehow. Tommy should give his hands something better to do. “Hold yourself open for me.” Evan scrambles to follow his order. “Very good, sweet boy.”

Tommy takes a few precious seconds to enjoy the sight in front of him—Evan presenting himself for Tommy, his hole wet, puffy and pretty in pink, winking at Tommy eagerly.

The first smack comes as a surprise to both of them. For a moment, Tommy considers dragging things out, but apparently, he doesn’t have that in him anymore. The sound of shock that shoots out of Evan’s lungs tells him he made the right call. Evan likely also assumed Tommy would tease some more.

Tommy waits, then chides when he hears nothing. “Evan.” Evan gasps, realizing his mistake and hurrying to correct it. “One! Thank you, Daddy.” Two, three, four and five follow in quick succession, the slapping sound made even more obscene by the wetness of lube and saliva spread between Evan’s cheeks. The next strikes follow a more irregular pattern, keeping Evan on his toes, each impact ripping through him like an earthquake. Tommy spanks with enough force to make it sting, to make the nerves feel raw and exposed—the kind of pain that makes you hiss and lean into it. 

Evan’s howls turn into keens with each hit, but he doesn't forget Tommy's instructions again. He does struggle to maintain a firm grip on his cheeks every now and then, his hands slick with sweat, but he manages to regain control each time.

Tommy takes a break at ten to check on Evan’s condition. Evan has stopped burying his face in the pillow, head tilted to the side again, likely because he needs air. His chest heaves beneath him and soft whimpers leave his mouth with each exhale. 

“You okay?” It takes Evan a couple of seconds to realize he’s being spoken to, but once he does, he nods. “Seven more, you think you can take it?” Tommy asks more clearly. A nod, again. “What did I tell you about using your words, Evan?”

“Yes, thank you, Daddy,” Evan rushes to deliver breathlessly, having reached the point where he mindlessly uses the phrase like a punctuation mark. Tommy couldn’t be prouder.

Tommy leans down to kiss Evan's skin, first grazing his hand and then his ass with a gentle brush of his lips, punctuated by another sharp smack to his hole. 

All the sweet reactions he used to elicit from Evan come flooding back as he remembers slapping his dick against Evan's cheeks and hole, teasing him with the heft of it before letting him feel it from the inside. He should have realized earlier just how into this Evan would be.

By the time Tommy reaches the end, an endless string of sobs is wracking Evan’s body, interspersed with heartbreaking hiccups whenever Evan is forced to inhale. Tommy makes sure that the last spank is the hardest one.

“ Ah! Hah- oooh, s-se-sev'nteen, th'nkyuDaddy,” Evan barely manages to slur in between his whimpers, but like a dutiful little trooper, he perseveres.

Tommy takes a good look at his creation.

Evan’s right cheek is squished into the pillow, his mouth slack-jawed, and he’s either uncaring or unaware of how much he’s drooling. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed over, appear to gaze at nothing at all, unfocused, feverish and fuck-drunk, despite Evan not even having had a dick inside him yet. Maybe next time they do this, Tommy will place a vibrating egg against Evan’s prostate, see if he can come from that and the sting of spanks against his hole alone. A different kind of fucking.

Evan’s cock is a mess, just like the rest of him, twitching when air touches it and slowly but steadily leaking an obscene amount of precum onto the towel beneath him, thoughtfully placed there just for this purpose. Tommy’s mouth is watering with the urge to lap it up, but he resists. No distractions. He can still taste a hint of Evan’s ass, rich and carnal, on his tongue and that is enough to sustain him for now. 

Speaking of... Tommy's eyes fixate on the focal point of his masterpiece. A bright red circle glows around Evan's hole which pulsates to the rhythm of blood pumping beneath the skin. Tommy hovers his hand above it, dead certain he can feel the radiance of heat emanating from the area. He’ll have to treat it later, with Evan spreading his cheeks for Tommy so he can apply cooling, soothing aloe vera gel to the skin.

A deep, primal groan rumbles up from the depths of Tommy’s chest, and he can feel the last shreds of his self-control coming apart. He hurriedly grabs some lube to slick his cock, hissing in discomfort as he touches it and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. His dick has been neglected for so long, and it’s letting him know just how displeased it is—angry red and overfilled with sensitivity. Tommy softens his touch; the caress of his feather-light fingers gradually gives way to careful strokes, maintaining the movement until he no longer feels like he might burst out of his skin. Once he feels ready, he gives Evan’s hole a soft parting kiss and crawls up his body, making sure his chest is fully pressed against Evan’s back.

Evan isn’t begging anymore, too out of it to understand what’s happening when Tommy starts feeding him his dick. Tommy didn’t forget that it’s been a while, but he isn’t taking it anywhere near as slowly as he usually would. He can’t.

A beautiful, silent O forms on Evan’s lips when he realizes that he’s finally getting what he’s been panting for all this time, eyes widening in pleasure-shock at the feeling, and his hands clawing at any part of Tommy he can find. His feet begin to lift off the bed at the same measured pace Tommy is entering him, as if every muscle in his body contracts more and more the deeper Tommy goes. All muscles, that is, except for the ring around Tommy’s cock, stretched wide and striving to stay open. Tommy can only imagine what it must feel like to be filled after such sweet torture to his hole—nerves oversensitized and rewired to perceive pleasure and pain as one and the same.

Only when Tommy’s hips are flush against Evan’s ass does a wanton moan break out of Evan, his legs thudding down onto the bed as his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pressure of Tommy’s cock against his sweet spot.

Evan chokes on a sob, saliva-garbled exclamations of “guh-good, s-so good” spilling from his lips, and tries to call for him, if his broken “Da-!” is supposed to mean anything, letting Tommy know that he can start moving and—

God.

This.

This is the moment Tommy has been waiting for over two fucking weeks—the moment where he’s finally allowed to snap, not a single cell in his body capable of patience or self-control anymore.

He practically throws his cock into Evan’s hole, not holding back on the power in his muscles, pistoning in and out as if trying to punch Evan’s prostate with each snap of his hips.

Tommy should probably put a hand over Evan’s mouth, muffle his howls and wails and sobs, his cries of yes! and please! and Daddy!, but he’s too far gone to deny himself the reward of Evan’s ecstasy. If Evan’s neighbors end up struggling with eye contact after this, that’s their issue.

For some reason, Evan’s orgasm takes him by surprise, untouched and early as it is, even though it really shouldn’t, considering how long Tommy has been dragging him along. The tight, spasming clench of Evan’s hole makes his hips stutter, but even that isn’t enough to restrain him. He grabs a fistful of Evan’s hair, both to pin him down, to stop him from thrashing around too much, and as leverage to put even more force behind the relentless push-pull-shove of his thrusts.

Normally, he would comment on how quickly Evan came, especially when it happens solely through prostate play. Evan has told him how much he adores it, unpredictable as it is—both the physical sensation and the meaning Evan has given it, the feeling of being a good hole for Tommy. Depending on the mood, Tommy either rewards him with soft words for surrendering to his pleasure, or teases him for being easy, praise glazed with honey-sweet mockery. Tommy doesn’t even have that in him anymore.

“I’m not stopping,” Tommy warns instead, voice guttural and feral with savagery, unrecognizable even to him.

Evan accepts his fate if the way one of his hands shoots out to the headboard is any indication—support to hold on for the ride. He could say his safeword if he truly wanted Tommy to stop. Instead, Evan grabs the pillow and bites into the fabric, bearing the overstimulation with scrunched shut eyes, gritted teeth and desperate grunts, unable to sing his pleasure through pretty moans anymore with how shot his voice is.

The tight heat of Evan around him—his body safe and sound beneath him, right where he’s meant to be—consumes Tommy entirely. He pounds into Evan’s hole with enough force—hard and deep—to make the flesh of his cheeks ripple with each slap of skin on skin. Evan’s knees start to slip on the sheets, drifting further and further apart with each punishing pump, until the insides of his thighs must be aching. Tommy imagines the tip of Evan’s cock brushing through his own spilled cum, steadily leaking a delicious mess onto the towel, as it bops up and down each time Tommy’s hips bounce off of his ass.

His climax creeps up on him like a bird of prey, lurking but undetectable until it grabs him by the throat—pleasure clawing its way through his body until it releases itself in unrestrained, rapturous groans resounding through the loft as he fucks his load into Evan, filling him up with hot fluid. That of all things earns Tommy a small delighted squeal from Evan, sweet, little cumslut that he is.

Tommy doesn’t give Evan a chance to think it’s over. While his length still twitches and jerks with the force of his orgasm, he reaches for Evan’s. He doesn’t know if Evan’s cock has refilled or if it never really went down, and it doesn’t matter. All Tommy cares about is the silky-wet feel of it in his hands as he begins to stroke it.

“Nnng-ooh—!,” Evan whines pitifully, reflexively placing his hand on top of Tommy’s but doing nothing to move it away. Tommy’s not sure if that was a moan or a no, and Evan likely doesn’t know either. Another thing that doesn’t matter. Tommy’s hand is wet in seconds from how much Evan’s cock is drooling for a fist to fuck into.

“You’re not done yet,” Tommy growls. It will take a few more minutes for Tommy’s erection to fully go down. He clenches his jaw against the sharp sting of overstimulation coursing through his body and makes the most of that timeframe, rolling his hips into Evan and scraping his sweet spot in staccato rhythm. “Come on, sweet boy, give it to me,” Tommy urges, echoing Evan’s earlier plea, the gentleness of the pet name contrasted by the roughness in his voice.

Evan doesn’t stand a chance against the double stimulation, torn between arching back into the stretch of Tommy’s cock deep inside him and thrusting into Tommy’s fist as he empties his balls again, thick ropes of cum adding to the mess already on the towel. Evan makes his own anguished bliss known to the walls as his body convulses uncontrollably, giving Tommy a reminder of just how strong Evan is. It’s almost as if he’s trying to put his feet flat on the bed and lift up to get Tommy off him, bucking like a mechanical bull that doesn’t understand it’s meant to be ridden. Tommy puts Evan in a loose chokehold to gain better control and then flings them to their sides, still milking Evan for every last drop. Only when the hand on top of his starts pulling at his wrist does Tommy let go.

Tommy stares at his hand for a second, moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to marvel at the beauty of the pearly white fluid covering it. He contemplates licking his skin clean but ultimately decides against it. He knows he would get lost in the taste, and his desire to touch Evan takes over. Instead, he wipes his hand on the towel and then rests it on Evan's heaving stomach, mindlessly playing with the trail of hair there. Tommy buries his nose in Evan's hair, inhaling deeply as he catches his breath and holds him through the twitches and trembles rocking his body.

Peppering sweet, light kisses along Evan’s neck, Tommy waits for him to calm down—keeping them connected, Evan filled up the way Tommy knows he likes—until Evan feels ready to part.

After a little while, Tommy lifts his head in confusion when he notices that the shaking doesn’t subside, sniffling sounds filling the air.

“Evan?” Tommy asks carefully, receiving a hitching breath in response. “Evan, what’s wrong? Is it your leg?” he adds in alarm.

Evan digs his stubby nails into Tommy’s wrist and shakes his head, his voice thick with tears as he stutters, “I-I-I’m sorry, ‘m s-so sor-”

Tommy tightens his grip on Evan and hushes him as gently as he can. “Shh, sweetheart, there’s no need for that. Why would you be sorry?”

“I-I d-didn’ mean t-to hurt.” 

Tommy tries to make sense of the phrasing. Hurt who? Himself or others? Regardless, his heart aches for Evan at the thought of how exhausting the last two weeks must have been for him—physically and emotionally vulnerable, feeling both overwhelmed by and disconnected from the world. He must have felt incredibly isolated and confined when everything he usually loves caused sensory overload—stuck in a dark place in more ways than one.

“My sweet darling,” Tommy soothes. “I know you didn’t. This wasn’t a punishment. You know that, right? I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I-I know. And y-you do— you take s-such good care of me…”

A shivery exhale escapes Evan and he starts curling in on himself. Tommy mirrors the movement, embracing him more securely—as if holding on firmly enough could stop the shaking of Evan’s body. He caresses the skin beneath his palms and responds in a gentle, calming tone, “Of course I do. I care about you.”

“M-me, too. Me, too,” Evan returns, the words spilling out in a breathless rush, as if trying to convey far more than they can express. He gently squeezes Tommy’s hand and lifts it, pressing it to the rapid beat of his heart. Tommy takes a moment to treasure the words and the proof of Evan alive beneath his palm, his mind already racing for ways to make him well again. He infuses a teasing lilt into his voice as he jokes, “You care about me or yourself?” Thankfully, that has the desired effect—soft, wet laughter bubbling out of Evan as he lightly slaps Tommy’s wrist. “You, of course.”

Tommy hums gently at that. “Well, you should care about yourself. Make sure you come back to me safe, healthy and happy every day.” The light-heartedness fades from his next words, but there’s still a casualness to them, proof of how self-evident they are. “But even if you don’t, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Right beside you,” Evan repeats, his voice carrying a dreamy cadence as his breath evens out more and more.

A sound of agreement rumbles in Tommy’s throat. “For now, we’re going to cuddle a little longer, then I’ll clean us up, we’ll drink some water, and after that, we’re going to sleep. How does that sound?”

Evan nestles his face into the crook of Tommy's arm and gently kisses the skin, his reply a soft brush of lips against it.

"Perfect."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bright sunshine is streaming through the window, warming Evan’s skin and making him glow. Just as it should.

A small, content smile curls on Tommy’s lips as he watches his boyfriend sleep, a picture of sweet serenity. When Tommy woke up, he considered getting out of bed to make coffee, but then he decided he was allowed to indulge in the beautiful and dearly missed sight before him: Evan bathed in sunlight.

Tommy’s smile widens even more as he watches the tell-tale signs of Evan waking up: the way his eyes struggle to open, how he scrunches up his nose, the small grumble in the back of his throat—all betraying his reluctance to leave the comfort of rest. Until his eyes find Tommy. Then his expression transforms into one of sleepy joy, his smile slow and sweet, reflecting the bright light of the sky—Tommy’s favorite sight.

“Good morning,” Evan croaks, voice still hoarse and groggy from sleep and sex.

Tommy’s voice is steadier, filled with warmth, as he returns the sentiment in a gentle whisper.

They had fallen asleep facing each other, Evan’s head tucked under Tommy’s chin. Evan must remember this, because after staring at Tommy for a moment longer, he returns to that position, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Tommy’s neck with a pleased exhale.

“You okay?” Tommy can’t help but ask, recalling how last night ended.

Evan makes another satisfied sound. “More than,” he replies happily, a sense of satiation tinting his tone.

It’s Tommy’s turn to sigh and close his eyes in contentment, his fingers gently tracing over Evan’s skin.

For a moment, Tommy thinks Evan has dozed off again until he starts to feel him vibrating in his arms. It takes him a second to understand that the warm puffs of air hitting his skin are giggles bubbling out of Evan's chest.

Evan carefully stretches in his arms, his movements languid and indulgent, and tilts his head to look at him again. “What the hell, Tommy,” he exclaims through breathless, incredulous laughter, his sleepy expression a mix of reverence and playful accusation, as if to say, How dare you ruin me like that?

Tommy’s lips quirk in amusement. “I take it you enjoyed yourself last night?”

Evan raises an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think I saw the face of God. And I’m not very religious.”

It’s Tommy’s turn to laugh. Evan is so damn lovable Tommy wants to squish him. He does exactly that, tightening his arms around him as he jokes, “Was he good-looking?”

The sun has nothing on the grin Evan is giving him. “Yeah. He had a cleft in his chin.” One of Evan's thumbs finds its way to said spot, a favorite resting place, as he leans in to give him a chaste kiss—morning breath be damned.

Tommy hides his smile against Evan's lips, adding another moment to his ever-growing collection of Happiest Memories. There have been many more since Evan came into his life.

Evan slowly pulls away and makes sure to rub their noses together before leaning back to look at him again. His eyes lock onto Tommy's, and for a moment, he simply stares. "Tommy?" Evan breathes, his voice laced with achingly soft tenderness. "Thank you."

“I think you said that enough times yesterday,” Tommy deadpans.

“No, I mean—thank you,” Evan repeats emphatically. “For—for everything. For being there. For being you. God, I—,” breathless laughter interrupts Evan’s words for a moment, “I-I can’t believe how lucky I am.” His eyes are filled with unapologetic warmth and sincerity, that unique brand of earnestness he exudes. It always makes Tommy feel small and delicate, as if he’s looking at something much larger than himself—something that could crush him but promised it wouldn’t. The desire to cherish is palpable, and Tommy feels like he’s staring at the sun. He has to look away.

“You would do the same for me,” Tommy shrugs awkwardly. It’s supposed to be a wave-away statement, a Don’t mention it, and Tommy freezes when he realizes the true implications of his words.

Two thoughts fill his head simultaneously. How can you possibly think someone could ever feel such devotion for you? and Of course Evan would take care of you, he’s the best person you’ve ever known. Ideas so at odds with each other that the cognitive dissonance makes Tommy’s head hurt.

Evan must see something in his expression, something that stirs his urge to comfort, because the next thing he does is take Tommy’s hand. Tommy looks back just in time to watch Evan press a kiss against it. The words he breathes against the skin carry such a profound sense of truth that they act like Tylenol on Tommy’s nerves.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

Here's a horny headcanon for you. If Buck gets fucked regularly he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy's dick without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, you know? When there's a long break between sex though, Buck needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again. A warm bath to relax his muscles and get himself thoroughly clean, breathing exercises, Tommy needs to give him indulgent massages, first his entire body, then focusing on his hole. It's moments like these where Tommy likes to play with and finger at Buck's hole without ever entering it for a while. Instead he uses his fingers to tap, stroke, pulsate, circle, until it starts winking at him. Until it remembers him. You see, Buck has gone through his prep routine but now it's time for Tommy to go through his. Which involves tongue and finger fucking Buck until he's crying. Tommy partially drags things out out of genuine concern, to make sure Buck doesn't feel the slightest bit of pain. Another part wants to tease and chastise Buck's hole for having forgotten him.

oh my goodness anon... this is beautiful. i have no words, this is perfect, this is beautiful, this is everything.

i will love you forever and forever anon

[rhyrhy]

Vital signs ـــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Greys anatomy AU! Doctor- Abby Anderson

Mlist | moodboards I second chap (you are here) |

Two: Sink or swim 🩺

⚕️ summary: At St. Mary’s Hospital, the rules are simple. Saving lives, avoiding attachment, and never going overboard. However, staying within those boundaries is becoming increasingly difficult under the constant gaze of the head of cardio.

Your feet feel like lead in your shoes. Two hours ago, you found out that your planned one-night stand was actually the head of cardio at your hospital. And now, just when you thought your bad luck had peaked, fate decided to twist the knife. Because despite your best efforts to avoid Dr. Anderson, she was the resident on this case with you. So, you did everything you could by yourself. You pushed through rounds, meticulously checked vitals, double-checked scans. You weren’t about to look incompetent, not on your first shift. That wasn’t an option. You needed be that intern to get that first surgery.

But now… you’ve hit a wall.

Great.

Nine hours in, the morning has blurred into a mess of movement, orders, and adrenaline. Somewhere in between rushing from one patient to another, you and the other interns finally exchange names, though it barely registers. Everyone’s too exhausted to commit anything to memory beyond who’s in charge and where they need to be.

The sleeve of your white coat brushes against the empty desk as you sit hunched over Katie’s chart. The distant chatter of coworkers in the cafeteria barely reaches you, drowned out by the sound of your own thoughts. Your eyes burn from staring at the same scans, the skin of your fingertips dry from flipping through printed ink a million times. Nothing. How could there be nothing when she was clearly in pain? You can’t go back into her room without answers, you need to prove yourself.

At some point, Dina hurries over, eyes wide with barely masked panic.

“I need help. My patient’s O2 stats are dropping, and I have no idea why.” Jesse lingers just behind her, standing a little too close, like he’s waiting for an excuse to jump in. He’s always like that with Dina—hovering, teasing, toeing the line for coworkers.

You let out a long sigh, rubbing your temple. “Ugh, you too? Mine is driving me up a wall. It’s like a phantom pain—nothing’s showing up on these scans.” You glance back at the pages of Katie’s chart. Blood work, normal. Imaging, clear. Symptoms inconsistent. But she looks awful—tired, weak, barely able to sit up without wincing. Something isn’t adding up.

Without realizing it, the four of you have gravitated toward each other like lost kids at recess, huddling together like anxious penguins. Intern penguins.

Or, as General Marlene’s voice echoes in your head, “bottom of the surgical food chain.”

Marlene. Just thinking about her makes your shoulders tense. She’s the reason you got into St. Mary’s. The reason you had to pack up and leave home, leave behind the mess you were barely holding together. You told yourself it was for the best—fresh start, new city, clean slate. No more family drama breathing down your neck, no ex showing up at your doorstep with apologies too late to mean anything. But somehow, standing here, exhausted, drowning in charts and expectations, you’re already wondering if this was a mistake.

Then, as if summoned by your thoughts, a voice cuts through the group like a scalpel.

“Why are y’all just standing there?”

Marlene. She’s leaning over the railing above, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. The overhead lights cast sharp angles on her face, making her look even more intimidating than she did during rounds. Her voice halts conversation. You barely have time to react before she levels you all with an unimpressed glare.

“Rule five: when I say move, you move.” She rolls her eyes and waves everyone off.

A brief pause lingers. Then, after a few awkward head nods and quiet “thank yous,” for whatever help we’d gathered, like a bunch of scolded children, you scatter.

You let out a breath and head back to Katie’s floor. Maybe you didn’t ask enough questions. Maybe you were too focused on her stubbornness. How could your first case—a stomach ache, of all things—stump you this much? The world around you fades into white and black lettering, as you push your hair behind your ear, weaving through patients and doctors, eyes glued to the papers in your hands, praying there’s something you missed.

You press the cold gray button with the arrow facing up, waiting for the elevator. The doors slide open, and you step inside, still reading. A faint hello pulls you from your trance. You don’t feel conversational so You nod absentmindedly in acknowledgment before tilting your head back, letting the bright fluorescent light fill your vision. Your brain is fried. A five-second break won’t kill you.

Then, a familiar chime.

You glance over your shoulder, and there she is, hair pulled back, glasses hooked onto the collar of her dark blue scrubs. You’re still not used to seeing her in this environment. It feels like night and day, remembering the slightly clingy woman who had begged you to stay in bed with her just hours ago. Abby’s hand curling around your wrist under warm sheets, her hair messy, falling halfway over her face. The sleepy rasp of her voice: “Stay a little longer?”

You blink hard, forcing yourself back to reality. Trying to keep those thoughts to a minimum. She leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking way too at ease for someone who just spent six hours cutting people open. Nope. Not going there.

You straighten awkwardly. “Dr. Anderson.”

Her eyebrow raises at the formality, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she hums. You snap your head forward, keeping your eyes locked on the silver doors, willing the elevator to move faster.

A beat of silence. Then—

“So…” Abby starts casually, like you didn’t wake up in the same bed seven hours ago. “You a hiker?”

“…What?” Your brows pull together, with a small squint of confusion. Was this her idea of small talk, you screamed internally for the universe to let up.

She shrugs, tilting her head slightly. “Utah. Mountains. People out here love hiking. Thought maybe you were one of those ‘find yourself on a trail’ types.”

You blink. “…That’s the most random thing you could’ve said just now.”

She hums, pretending to think. “Well, I considered leading with, ‘Hey, funny running into you here after last night,’ but I figured you’d prefer the small talk.”

Your jaw clenches. “Yes. Definitely prefer the small talk.”

She nods, barely holding back a grin. “Right. So, hiking.” Her gaze flickers downward for a fraction of a second, like she’s mulling over her own words before speaking.

She shrugs,“Just saying. Sounds like a good stress reliever. Can’t help but think they might be onto something.”

There’s a slight twitch at the corner of your lips. “Glad to see you’re adjusting well.”

She grins. “Mhm…Could be a team-building exercise.”

Your brow furrows. “What—are you inviting me—” You cut yourself off, looking away quickly. This was unprofessional. She was your superior. This woman is unbelievable, to say the least.

Moments of silence pass over you two, You don’t wait. The second the doors open, you’re out before she can respond. Just before they close behind you, Abby calls out—

“You let me know if you change your mind about the great outdoors!”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch before you can stop them. But as the doors slide shut, you can feel her eyes lingering on you, the weight of her presence pressing against your back.

A dim-lit memory flickers behind your eyelids, The Bar—Abby’s fingers loosely curled around a whiskey glass, the way she leaned in when she talked to you, her eyes unwavering. Her cheek rested against her palm as she listened, intently, to your slightly tipsy ramblings.

“I just… I needed to leave.” Your voice had been quieter then, more vulnerable. “It felt suffocating. Like I was trapped in this version of myself I didn’t even like.” Abby had only nodded, slow, understanding. Watching you like you were the only thing that mattered. No judgment, or chiming in…just listening.

You shake the thought away. Not the time.

The hours tick by, the weight of exhaustion pressing against your shoulders. Your patient, Katie, had been a complete mystery symptoms not quite fitting any obvious diagnosis, test results coming back inconclusive. But now, staring at the latest scan, the pieces finally click into place.

Your breath catches. “Oh my God.”

You scramble for a pen, flipping through her chart, double-checking the notes, re-running the possibilities in your head. It has to be this. A rare complication, but one that makes perfect sense. Your heart pounds as you yank the file off the desk. You have to tell Abby. Now. You spin on your heel, practically jogging down the hall, dodging nurses and patients as your sneakers squeak against the freshly waxed floors. Almost there—

BAM.

You collide with something solid. Hard enough to knock the air from your lungs and send your patient file flying. “Shit—” A pair of hands grab your arms, steadying you before you can completely wipe out.

“Damn, dude. Where’s the fire?” You blink up at Ellie, who’s eyeing you with equal parts amusement and mild concern.

“I—” you shake your head, catching your breath. “I think I figured out what’s wrong with Katie.”

Ellie whistles. “Look at you, solving medical mysteries on your first shift. Next thing you know, you’ll be stealing surgeries from the rest of us.”

You huff, bending down to grab your scattered papers. “Yeah, well, first I have to survive telling Anderson.”

Ellie helps you scoop up the last of the notes, handing them over with a teasing grin. “Well, good luck with that. Try not to walk straight into her, too.” You roll your eyes but shoot her a quick smile before hurrying off. Abby was about to get an earful—whether she liked it or not.

The low hum of hospital machines fills the room as you stand just outside Katie’s door, patient file gripped tightly in your hands. Inside, her parents sit in stiff-backed chairs, her mother wringing a tissue between her fingers, her father rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Their exhaustion is palpable—the kind that comes from hours of waiting, of fear twisting in their stomachs. You take a steadying breath before stepping in. Abby is right beside you, her presence grounding even if she’s the reason you’re feeling twice as nervous.

Katie’s mother stands the moment she sees you. “Do you know what’s wrong with her?” Her voice wavers on the last word.

You exchange a quick glance with Abby, who gives you a small nod, silently urging you to speak.

“We do.” You clear your throat, stepping forward. “Katie has a rare complication called Pericarditis It’s uncommon, which is why it wasn’t immediately obvious, but now that we’ve identified it, we can move forward with treatment.”

Her father straightens. “A rare complication? But she was fine last week. She just had a fever—how does it turn into this?”

You nod, flipping open the file. “That’s a good question. What likely happened is that she had a viral infection—something that probably felt like a cold or mild flu. But instead of just running its course, the infection caused inflammation in the lining around her heart, making it difficult for it to pump properly. That’s why she’s been feeling weak and having chest pain.”

Katie’s mother clutches her husband’s arm. “But you can fix it, right?”

You hesitate, and Abby smoothly steps in. “We have a plan. We’re going to monitor her closely, start anti-inflammatory medication to reduce the swelling, and if necessary, we’ll drain any excess fluid. If she responds well, she could be feeling better in a matter of days.”

Katie’s father lets out a slow breath, nodding. “And she’ll recover?”

You soften. “That’s what we’re aiming for.”

You rub your temples as you finish scribbling notes into a chart, exhaustion already settling into your bones. It’s only your first shift, and yet you’ve somehow run across the entire hospital three times, nearly killed yourself tripping over an IV pole, and barely avoided making an idiot of yourself in front of Dr. Anderson—twice. Intern year was going to be hell.

You glance at the clock. Lunch. Thank God. As you step into the hallway, Jesse falls into step beside you, looking way too smug for someone who’s also running on fumes.

“You look like you just got hit by a truck,” he comments, elbowing you lightly. Scanning over your slumped shoulders.

You glance at him, Straightening up slightly. “Feel like it too.”

Ellie and Dina catch up, Ellie stretching her arms over her head. “At least you don’t have a patient who tried to bite you,” she grumbles.

Jesse snickers. “Pediatrics?”

“Worse. Old fart with dementia. Thought I was his ex-wife.” Ellie sighed, huffing a laugh at her own description.

Dina grimaces, with a shoulder pat that went on a bit longer than normal, or at least you thought. “Yikes Williams.”

As the four of you make your way toward the cafeteria, you let out a deeper sigh. “Honestly, I have bigger problems.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow, curiously spiking. “Bigger than almost getting bitten?”

“I need a roommate,” you admit. “My new place is way too big for just me, and rent is stupid expensive. I thought I’d be fine on my own, but at this rate, I might have to start selling my organs on the black market.”

Ellie smirks. “Dibs on your liver.”

Dina glances over. “Wait, you’re looking for a roommate?”

You nod. Dina nudges you with her shoulder. “I’m literally looking for a new place. My neighbor is wayy too loud at two in the morning. Two. In the morning.”

“Oh my God. Roomies?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Roomies.” You agreed, it might not be such a bad idea.

Jesse groans. “Okay, this is ridiculous. If anyone should be Dina’s roommate, it’s me. I’d make a great one.”

Ellie side-eyes him. “Jesse, your car is a biohazard. I can only imagine what your apartment looks like.”

Dina snorts. “Yeah, sorry, man. I think I’ll take my chances with her instead.” She gestures at you.

You sink into your chair, letting out a deep sigh as the exhaustion from the day settles into your bones. Your scrubs feel heavier than when you first put them on, your feet ache like you’ve run a marathon, and your brain is dangerously close to short-circuiting.

So this really is your life now—running on fumes, chasing diagnoses, dodging Marlene’s wrath, and trying not to make a fool of yourself in front of Dr. Anderson.

Your eyes flick across the cafeteria, landing on Abby at a distant table. She’s deep in conversation with another attending, posture relaxed, fingers absently tracing the rim of her coffee cup. She looks just as sharp and confident as she did in the OR. Like she belongs here. And then there’s you—an intern who spent the morning nearly killing herself with nerves, playing medical detective for the first time, and figuring out how to navigate the fact that she accidentally slept with head of cardio.

Great first day.

Taglist: @sevyscoven

[saebyeokbliss]

ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU— PART IX.

synopsis: on a cold january day, you were worrying about the reason your girlfriend wasn’t texting back. when she finally does and asks to meet at your apartment, you’re met with heartbreak as she ends your relationship. no explanation. two years later, you run into her at a cafe with someone new. what are you to do?

warnings: angst, death, swearing, yelling, more stress HAHA

pairing: sae-byeok x fem!reader

The hospital always felt colder than it should. The sterile white walls and the faint smell of antiseptic clung to you like a second skin every time you walked through those doors. It was the kind of place that drained the warmth out of you, leaving only a gnawing sense of dread in its wake.

You hated being there. But you hated what it meant to not be there even more.

When you entered Veda’s room, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor greeted you, a sound you had come to associate with her continued survival. She was propped up in the hospital bed, her small frame swallowed by the too-big sheets. Her face was pale, and the bruises from the accident had faded to a sickly yellow, but when her eyes met yours, she gave you a tired smile.

“Hey, Vee,” you said softly, setting your bag down on the chair by the bed.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice weak but steady.

You pulled up a chair beside her, reaching out to take her hand. Her fingers were cold, and they trembled slightly as she squeezed your hand back. You’d been careful to hide your own exhaustion from her—she didn’t need to know about the sleepless nights, the eviction notice, or the constant weight of your parents’ demands. She had enough to deal with without worrying about you.

“How are you feeling today?” you asked, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her forehead.

“Better,” she said, though the effort it took her to speak made it clear she was lying. “The nurses said I might be able to start walking again soon. Isn’t that good?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “That’s great.”

She studied your face for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. “You look tired.”

You laughed softly, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just busy, you know? Work, school, all that fun stuff.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press you. Instead, she leaned back against the pillows, her gaze drifting to the window. “Do you think I’ll ever get out of here?” she asked quietly.

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Of course you will,” you said finally, your voice firm. “You’re going to get better, Vee. I promise.”

She didn’t say anything, but the way her lips curved into a faint smile told you that she wanted to believe you.

The two of you talked for a while, about nothing and everything all at once. You told her about the diner, about your coworkers, about the funny things customers said that made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. She told you about the books she’d been reading, about the nurses who were kind to her, and about the dreams she had of being anywhere but there.

For a little while, it felt almost normal. Like the hospital walls weren’t closing in, and the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on your shoulders. But then, without warning, everything changed.

“Vee?” you said, noticing how her eyelids started to droop and her grip on your hand loosened. “You okay?”

She didn’t respond.

“Vee,” you said again, your voice rising slightly as panic began to creep in.

Her head lolled to the side, and the faint smile that had been on her lips was gone. The beeping of the heart monitor that had been your constant companion suddenly turned sharp and erratic, the sound cutting through the air like a knife.

“Veda!” you shouted, standing up so fast that the chair toppled over behind you. Her chest wasn’t moving. Her lips were turning blue.

The room dissolved into chaos as alarms blared and nurses rushed in, pushing you back as they surrounded her bed. Someone was shouting something—maybe it was you—but you couldn’t hear it over the deafening roar in your ears.

You watched helplessly as they worked on her, their movements frantic and precise. The minutes stretched on forever, each one more agonizing than the last. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

The heart monitor flatlined, the steady drone filling the room like a death knell. One of the nurses looked up at the clock, her expression grim. “Time of death: 3:47 PM.”

It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you. Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

But it was.

Veda was gone.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, numb and shaking, before your parents arrived. The moment your mother stepped into the room, her eyes went straight to you. Her face twisted in grief, but beneath it, there was something else—something sharp and accusatory.

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “What did you do?”

You stared at her, your mouth opening and closing as you struggled to find the words. “I—I didn’t—”

“She was fine this morning!” your mother shouted, tears streaming down her face. “She was fine, and now she’s—she’s—” She broke off, sobbing, as your father stepped forward, his expression hard.

“This is your fault,” he said, his voice cold and final. “You should’ve been watching her. You should’ve done something.”

Something inside you snapped.

“My fault?” you said, your voice rising as you stood up, fury coursing through you like wildfire. “You’re blaming me for this? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Don't curse at your parents! Who else is there to blame?” your father shot back. “You were here! You were supposed to be taking care of her!”

“I have been taking care of her!” you shouted, your hands trembling as you gestured wildly. “I’ve been taking care of everything! While you sit at home doing nothing, I’ve been working myself to death to pay for her medical bills, to keep a roof over your heads, to make sure she had a chance! And now you’re going to stand there and blame me?”

Your mother’s sobs grew louder, but she didn’t say anything. Your father opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him.

“I’ve lost everything because of you!” you yelled, tears streaming down your face. “My house, my money, my future—everything! And for what? So you could sit there and tell me I’m not doing enough? I’ve been breaking myself apart for you, and it’s still not enough, is it? It’s never enough!”

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the anger and grief swirling inside you like a storm.

Your father didn’t respond. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, while your mother cried into her hands. For the first time in weeks, you didn’t care what they thought. You didn’t care about their guilt trips or their accusations. You were done.

The walk back to your apartment felt endless, each step heavier than the last. The cold night air bit at your skin, but you hardly noticed. Your mind was a storm of emotions—grief, anger, guilt—each one pulling you in a different direction until you felt like you were going to burst. Veda was gone. The words echoed in your head, hollow and cruel. She was gone, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

By the time you reached your building, your legs felt like they might give out beneath you. You climbed the stairs slowly, every breath a struggle, until you reached your door. The eviction notice was gone—it was stuffed in your bag, forgotten for now—but the weight of it still lingered, a constant reminder that tomorrow would be your last day here.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, the quiet of the apartment almost deafening. The single-room space, small and cluttered as it was, had never felt emptier. The air was cold, stagnant, and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn on the lights. You dropped your bag on the floor and sank into the sofa, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came.

For a long time, you just sat there, the sobs wracking your body as the events of the day crashed over you like a wave. You cried for Veda, for the life she’d never get to live. You cried for yourself, for the weight you’d been carrying for so long. And you cried for the anger you felt toward your parents, for the guilt that came with it, and for the fact that, deep down, you still wanted to make them proud.

When the tears finally slowed, leaving you hollow and shaking, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to get some water. That’s when you saw it.

An envelope sat on the counter, stark white against the dark surface. Your brow furrowed as you approached it, your heart skipping a beat when you saw your name scrawled on the front in hurried, slanted handwriting. You recognized it instantly.

Sae-byeok.

Your hands trembled as you picked up the envelope, dread and confusion swirling in your chest. You tore it open carefully, your breath catching when you saw the contents.

Money. More money than you’d ever seen in your life.

You dumped the stack of bills onto the counter, your chest tightening as you tried to process what you were seeing. It couldn’t be real—there was no way—but the weight of the cash in your hands told you otherwise. And then, tucked beneath the last stack of bills, you found the note.

“You need it more than me.”

That was all it said. Short, simple, and so Sae-byeok that it made your head spin.

Your emotions swung wildly from confusion to disbelief to anger, the grief you’d been drowning in now replaced by a white-hot rage. You stared at the money, your hands curling into fists as the words of the note burned into your mind.

You didn’t want her pity. You didn’t want this.

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the envelope, stuffed the money back inside, and stormed out the door.

The diner was quiet when you arrived, the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of dishes the only sounds. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pushed open the door, your steps quick and purposeful as you made your way to the break room. You didn’t care that your shift wasn’t for hours or that barging in like this was bound to cause a scene. You needed to see her.

Sae-byeok was sitting at the small table in the break room, unbothered as she sipped from a mug of coffee. She looked up when you entered, her expression unreadable as her dark eyes flicked to the envelope in your hand.

“What the hell is this?” you demanded, your voice trembling with anger as you slammed the envelope onto the table.

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she set her mug down and leaned back in her chair, her gaze steady. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to buy me off,” you snapped, your voice rising. “Do you think this fixes anything? Do you think throwing money at me is going to make everything better?”

“It’s not about fixing anything,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “It’s about helping.”

“I don’t need your help!” you shouted, your hands trembling as you gestured wildly. “I don’t need your money, I don’t need your pity, and I sure as hell don’t need you swooping in like some savior to save me from my own damn life!”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of anger beneath her calm exterior. “You’re so full of shit,” she said, her voice cold.

Your breath caught in your throat, but she didn’t give you a chance to respond.

“You’re drowning, and you know it,” she continued, her voice rising as she stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. “You’re working yourself to death, losing your home, grieving your sister, and still trying to act like you’ve got it all under control. Well, guess what? You don’t. And there’s nothing wrong with admitting that.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, but she didn’t stop.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to struggle?” she said, her voice sharp and cutting. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose everything, to feel like the world is crushing you under its weight? I’ve been there. I’ve lived that. And I’m still living it.”

Her voice softened slightly, but the intensity in her eyes didn’t waver. “This isn’t about pity. It’s about survival. And whether you want to admit it or not, you need this money more than I do.”

You stared at her, your chest heaving as her words sank in. The anger that had been fueling you began to waver, replaced by something else—something raw and vulnerable that you didn’t want to face.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “But you need it.”

The room fell silent, the tension between you thick and suffocating. You didn’t know what to say, your emotions a tangled mess as you stared down at the envelope on the table.

Finally, you shook your head, grabbing the envelope and shoving it back into your bag. “I don’t… I can’t…”

Sae-byeok didn’t respond, her expression unreadable as she watched you turn and leave the break room.

You didn’t stop walking until you were outside, the cold night air biting at your skin as you leaned against the side of the building. Your hands shook as you clutched the strap of your bag, the weight of the money inside pressing down on you like a physical thing.

You hated her for doing this. You hated her for making you feel small and weak and exposed. But more than that, you hated the part of you that was grateful—grateful for the money, for the gesture, for the fact that, even in her cold and unrelenting way, she cared.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone.

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