#chris nurse

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

somewhere in the deep blue sea

[childrenoftheradking]

haus cat :3

[vanteguccir]

hii, i was wondering if you could write something about doctor gf! reader x bf! matt/chris where she comes home super down after she looses a patient and had to break the news to their loved ones and when matt/chris ask her what happens she breaks into tears telling him and it ends like super fluffy

── ୨୧ !　BLURB

matt sturniolo x reader

where you are a nurse and face the death of a patient, and only Matt can calm you down ;(

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Y/N walked through the door of her house shared with her boyfriend, the weight of the day heavy on her shoulders, more so than usual. The soft click of the door as she closed it behind her echoed through the quiet space, but it did little to calm her racing thoughts. Her heart was still pounding, a hollow ache lodged in her chest, and her hands were trembling slightly, memories of the day flashing like lightning behind her eyes.

She slipped off her shoes mechanically, her body moving on autopilot as she hung her coat by the door. The house was bathed in a warm, golden light, the sun setting just beyond the city skyline, casting long shadows across the floor.

Normally, this sight brought her some semblance of peace; a small reminder that the world continued to turn, even after the hardest days. But today, nothing could soothe the turmoil inside her.

Matt was in the living room, sprawled out on the couch with a game controller in hand, playing after a day of filming with his brothers.

He glanced up when he heard the door close, a smile tugging at his lips as he saw her. But his smile faltered the moment he noticed the look on her face. She didn’t have to say a word; he could tell something was wrong.

"Hey, babe." He called out softly, putting the controller aside and sitting up. "You okay?"

Y/N tried to muster a smile, but it was shaky at best, and her eyes were already welling up with tears. She hadn’t cried all day; not at the hospital, not when she delivered the news, and not even when she stepped outside into the fresh air, hoping it would cleanse the darkness inside her. But now, here, in the safety of her home, the dam she had so carefully constructed was starting to break.

Matt stood up abruptly, his concern deepening as he crossed the room to her. He gently took her hand, pulling her into his arms without hesitation. The moment she felt his familiar warmth, the tears she had been holding back all day spilled over, and a broken sob escaped her lips.

"Hey, hey." Matt murmured, his voice laced with worry as he held her tighter. "What happened, Y/N?"

She couldn’t speak for a moment, the sobs wracking her body as she clung to him. He rubbed soothing circles on her back, whispering reassurances that only made her cry harder. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she found her voice, though it was shaky and raw.

"I-I lost a patient today." She choked out, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. "And I had to tell their family… I had to look into their eyes and tell them they were gone. It was so sudden, Matt… I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough."

Her words came out in a rush, each one more painful than the last, and with them came a fresh wave of guilt that she couldn’t suppress. The image of the grieving family flashed in her mind, their tears, their pleas for some miracle she couldn’t give. She had been trained to handle these situations, to remain composed and professional, but no amount of training could prepare her for the reality of it.

Matt listened, his heart aching for her as she poured out her grief. He knew how seriously she took her job and how much she cared for her patients. It was one of the things he admired most about her; her unwavering compassion and dedication. But he also knew how much of a toll it took on her, especially on days like this.

"It’s not your fault, Y/N." He whispered, cupping her face in his hands and tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "You did everything you could. You gave them the best care possible. It’s not your fault."

"But it feels like it is." She whispered back, her voice breaking. "I should have done more… I should have been able to save them."

"No." Matt said firmly, shaking his head. "You did everything you could. Sometimes… sometimes, things are out of our control, no matter how much we want to change them. You did your best, and that’s all anyone can ask for."

Y/N closed her eyes, letting his words sink in, though the guilt still gnawed at her insides. She knew he was right, logically, but it didn’t make the pain any less real. She had faced death before, but it never got easier. Every loss felt like a personal failure, a reminder that she couldn’t save everyone, no matter how hard she tried.

Matt wiped away her tears with his thumbs, his touch gentle and full of love. He kissed her forehead softly, his lips lingering there as if he could somehow kiss away her pain.

"I’m so sorry you had to go through that." He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "But you don’t have to carry this alone, okay? I’m here for you. Always."

His words broke through the fog of her despair, and she finally allowed herself to lean into his comfort fully. She buried her face in his chest, her sobs quieting as she felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. The warmth of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat; it was all so familiar, so safe. It was the only thing that made her feel like she wasn’t drowning in her own sorrow.

For a long while, they stood there in the middle of their living room, wrapped in each other’s arms as the sun continued its descent. The room grew dimmer as the golden light faded, but neither of them moved. Matt held her as if he were afraid she might shatter if he let go, and Y/N clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Eventually, her sobs subsided, and she was left with a hollow exhaustion that seeped into her bones. But there was also a sense of relief; a small, fragile peace that came from sharing her burden with the person she loved most.

"Thank you." She whispered into his chest, her voice hoarse from crying.

"You don’t have to thank me." Matt replied, his voice soft as he pressed another kiss to her hair. "I’m just glad I can be here for you. Now, why don't you sit down while I make you a tea?"

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[aristocrating]

me clocking into work every morning in the hopes of one day getting rich to be able to fund a Check Please! animated series

[virgoscringe]

certified loverboy christopher chow 🥰 largely dedicated to @atlasthemayor bc every time atlas shows up on my dash i think of polyfrogs hehe

my comms are opennnn <3

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”

Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.

Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”

Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”

Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”

Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”

“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.

Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”

“Maybe he should stay away from those.”

“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”

“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.

“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”

“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”

Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”

Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”

“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.

“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”

They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”

Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”

Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”

Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”

“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”

Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”

“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.

“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.

Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.

[atlasthemayor]

Back with another drawing of an incorrect quote by @incorrect-omgcp-frogs (it's an older post and I can't find it tho lmao)

[suzukiblu]

i am literally for real obsessed with your timberkon pink kryptonite fic so i definitely would love to see another sneak peek, but i'm also loving all the superfam stuff you're putting out!!! something that i wish you would write because i love your works (and have since the darcy lewis stucky days) and i think you would do amazing things with the pairing is jaytim, but i know thats not everyones cup of tea

(i realize now that you were probably aiming for an ask rather than a reply so here it is in your inbox too hskdhsh)

Thank you! ❤️ And oh, asks and replies were both fine for this, no worries. I try to just specify in-post whenever I have a preference but it's not gonna bother me either way.

I DO like JayTim to read, but I've never really felt a particular bug to write it myself? At least not yet, anyway, that may one day change. Though I miiiiight still put Kon in the middle because I am who I am and all, haha.

I'm planning to update the pink K fic on AO3 tomorrow, though I'm pretty sure I've already posted enough of chapter two in excerpts on Tumblr to have posted basically all of it by now and I'm trying to avoid doing that with chapter three, sooooo instead please accept the beginning of this very niche Superfam omegaverse pack dynamics AU instead. I've been looking for an excuse to post this whole big long thing anyway, lol.

Read-more for length, 'cuz there's kind of a lot here, haha.

.

The representative from the wet nurse agency shows up fifteen minutes early with an unusual-seeming omega who can't be a day over nineteen, being generous. Bruce makes a note to look into the agency's hiring practices a little more closely. The current situation is something of an emergency, unfortunately, and he's only had time to run the intermediate-level background checks so far.

Maybe this isn't the prospective wet nurse, he halfheartedly hopes, and they're just another representative; one who's in training or just here as backup. The kid smells like milk, though, and also why the hell would the agency send out an omega representative? Omegas are typically secretaries and clerks and almost all do in-office jobs, where they're "protected" from the outside world.

The practice is stupid and demeaning and borderline abhorrent, but it's a step up from the days when an omega couldn't get any job that wasn't as a nanny or a sex worker or some fucked-up combination of the two. Clark being an actual reporter is something that was practically unheard of two lousy generations back, and even now Clark is still an unusual exception in his field. Typically, an omega writing for a newspaper would be doing gossip or advice or something domestic, not investigative journalism.

So no, there's no way that this particular omega is anything but a wet nurse candidate, unusual-seeming and concerningly young or not. And Bruce had insisted on the candidate coming to meet them in person, even when the agency had very unsubtly implied that it would be better to just have the milk delivered.

Bruce is absolutely looking into this agency's hiring practices. An omega this age should barely be presented. One who's already allegedly producing enough milk to be a viable wet nurse for what they're requesting . . .

It's concerning, yes.

"Master Bruce, the representative from the Waterton Agency and her associate," Alfred introduces politely, gesturing between Bruce and their guests. He doesn't look or smell disapproving, even in the mildest notes, but Bruce knows he is.

Of course he is, with an omega who might be being either abused or taken advantage of or outright trafficked in the manor.

Bruce should've run a better background check.

"Hello, Alpha Wayne. My name is Ellen Travers," the agency representative greets tightly as Bruce steps into the parlor. She's a harried-looking blonde beta with graying hair who looks very unhappy to be here and is doing a very bad job of hiding the nervous dissatisfaction in her scent.

She doesn't introduce the omega.

Bruce puts on his stupid "Brucie" grin and strides right up to Travers, sticking a hand out to shake. She puts on a weak attempt at a polite smile in return and takes it.

"Hello there, Beta Travers, thanks so much for coming out here on such short notice!" Bruce greets her with a lie of cheerfulness, but Travers continues to smell nervous and upset and her smile is no less forced. And the omega . . .

The kid smells downright sullen, which is not a typical scent to catch off an unfamiliar presented omega and doesn't do anything to make him seem any older.

And yes, he's definitely unusual. He's much taller than Travers–about Bruce's own height, in fact–and has a very broad build and a surprising amount of muscle on him on top of that. Bruce knows full-grown alphas who'd kill to be built like this kid. He's also much more "handsome" than "beautiful", and frankly couldn't look less like the kind of sweet and pretty little things the agency had advertised on their website if he tried, much less the soft and maternal type Bruce had been expecting to actually have show up, given the specific requests he'd made.

Well, it does make sense. Bruce obviously wasn't going to provide the agency with either a Kryptonian genetic profile or a Kryptonian pup's exact dietary needs in search of a suitable wet nurse, but the nutrient requests that they'd made would likely necessitate an omega of a similar build to Clark's to supply–hell, the kid even resembles him a bit, funnily enough. They've already had four agencies tell them that they simply didn't have an appropriate candidate on staff, and the milk samples they'd been able to provide hadn't proven very helpful.

Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, but Martha had at least had the advantage of having a pack bond with him. A packmate's milk always does miles better by a pup than a stranger's or any kind of formula ever could.

Though she'd had some very odd cravings while nursing him, she'd told them. And Clark had still grown up underfed, even with formula and yellow sunlight to supplement–the Fortress had observed marked evidence of childhood malnutrition in him, he'd said.

Occasionally Bruce wonders what a properly-nursed Kryptonian raised under a yellow sun from infancy would've actually turned out like.

The thought is . . . well. A thought.

A thought that still makes him leery of how Jon Kent might grow up, sometimes.

Those concerns aside, though, the really unusual thing about this omega isn't either his physique or his face. Bruce is perfectly used to omegas with "nontraditional" looks after knowing Clark and Diana this long, to say nothing of various other Justice League members or other superheroes and villains he's known, or of both raising and reuniting with Jason. But this omega isn't as demurely dressed as mild-mannered Clark Kent would be; he's wearing opaque sunglasses and an alpha-cut studded leather jacket and alpha-style jeans and an inconveniently inaccessible plain black T-shirt with no sign of a nursing bra underneath it, nothing soft or appealing in either his clothes or his posture. If anything, he looks aggressive; tense and guarded and ready to start some shit. Even Jason usually puts up a temporary illusion of traditional omega mannerisms when he's meeting strangers as a civilian, if only so he'll be underestimated. This kid isn't even pretending to make the attempt.

And the kid smells completely and undeniably stray, too. Bruce can't catch a single note of packscent coming off him. Not even the scent of whatever pup got him milked up enough to qualify for this job. Unbred omegas sometimes lactate in heat or when under stress or if someone in their pack either has or adopts a pup, but a stray who doesn't smell particularly distressed or anything like he's on his cycle shouldn't be producing any milk at all.

At least not without using the kind of stimulants that Bruce explicitly forbade when filling out the agency application, anyway. Those medications are necessary for some omegas, obviously, but in this situation . . .

Kryptonian pups don't respond well to getting anything like that in their milk, they've already very thoroughly learned.

The omega also has spiked stainless steel piercings in his ears, snake bites under his mouth, and two curved barbells in his left eyebrow. All his other jewelry is heavy alpha-styled rings and bracelets, and his nails are painted a chipped black. And he is, notably, not wearing any kind of collar or necklace, and his neck is completely unmarked.

Bruce is in no way oblivious to the obvious message that an uncollared and unbitten omega's neck presents when left so obviously bared. Especially on a stray one who's dressed like an alpha and standing like he's expecting a fight.

He cannot imagine why this kid is working as a wet nurse.

None of the theories that come to mind bode particularly well, though.

"This omega is our most fitting candidate for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, her smile turning increasingly forced. Bruce thinks he can safely translate that expression as that of a beta who did not in any way agree with that assessment but was stuck following orders. "She fulfills all of your nutritional requests, including the necessary iron content and the prioritized fats and proteins, and, of course, is not taking any manner of lactation-inducing stimulants or supplements."

"He," the omega corrects, sounding dubious. Travers's mouth tightens. Bruce knows a lot of old-school traditionalists who won't call a male omega "he" or a female alpha "she", no matter what said omega or alpha's preferences happen to be, and makes another note about looking into this agency more thoroughly.

Much more thoroughly.

"She isn't available for direct nursing, unfortunately, but her milk is a perfect match to your requests and she produces both excellently and reliably; her supply will be more than enough for your needs," Travers continues as if the omega hadn't spoken, and the omega's lip curls in obvious annoyance as he rolls his eyes with no attempt to hide his exasperation even in the presence of an unfamiliar alpha.

Bruce thinks of Jason with a brief pang, and pushes the thought aside. It's not the time.

Maybe he could've asked Jason for help with this, if he'd been a better father. A better alpha. A better . . .

But he wasn't, so now there's an annoyed stranger standing in his parlor instead of a content packmate curled up in their nest.

"Really?" he asks, tilting his head and blinking down at Travers with a deliberately surprised expression. "The consultant made it sound like you'd need multiple donors, for the amount we're asking."

If one goddamn barely-presented kid is actually producing enough milk to even half-feed a Kryptonian pup . . .

"This omega produces sufficient quantities for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers replies with another forced smile. She must know how ridiculous a statement that is, when she's talking about a stray kid and not a fully mature omega with at least a couple of litters under their belt who's well-established in a stable pack, but she says it with conviction all the same.

"Oh, good!" Bruce says brightly, because he's supposed to be a stupid knotheaded playboy who wouldn't know a damn thing about nursing either way. "That'll be convenient, then."

Frankly, he only wishes one omega could produce what they need right now, but requesting that much milk from one agency for just one pup would be immediately flagged as suspicious, and definitely turned down outright. They're still looking for other candidates under false names, but at the rate they're going, they're going to need to keep supplementing with formula, which already hasn't been going well.

If Clark could get milked up himself, this wouldn't be a problem, of course. A Kryptonian omega could easily produce more than enough for one Kryptonian pup, especially under a yellow sun. Clark nursed Jon without a problem for years and was actually overproducing when he was, Bruce knows very well.

Unfortunately, that's not an option anymore. Not since . . .

Clark would never forgive himself if something like that happened again.

Never.

And Kara and Karen are both alphas, and Jon's a beta and only ten anyway, and the only other living Kryptonians they know of are either remorseless criminals imprisoned in the Phantom Zone or the sickly little pup who's slowly wasting away upstairs.

Formula and concentrated yellow sunlight haven't been enough. Clark can't get milked up anymore. They haven't been able to synthesize any appropriate supplements either in the Fortress or in working with the Justice League or STAR Labs or even in collaborating between them.

And the pup is just getting weaker, and quieter, and sicker.

A human wet nurse probably won't even help that much, at this point, but . . .

Well, it's the best chance they have to keep the pup alive until they can synthesize something. Maybe the only chance, now.

"We strive to provide to our clients' convenience, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, and the omega rolls his eyes again. Bruce is less and less convinced of him being an adult in any way but the presentation of his pheromones.

It's rude to address an unfamiliar unpacked omega directly, especially as an alpha. Technically Travers is chaperoning them in a professional situation, though, and Bruce has increasing suspicions about this omega's personal standards so far as "manners" go anyway.

And everyone knows Brucie Wayne is stupid and shameless, of course.

So he flashes the kid a grin, and he says, "Well, it's great to meet you, we appreciate you making the trip! What's your name, Mr. . . .?"

The kid blinks at him, clearly surprised both to be spoken to and to be called "Mr." instead of "Miss" or "Ms." or even "Omega". Travers looks absolutely scandalized.

Bruce really doesn't approve of the kind of traditionalists who won't introduce an omega or use their stated pronouns, though, so fuck if he cares.

"Her name is Carly, Alpha Wayne!" Travers interjects quickly, her tone a little bit too bright to be genuine. "Short for Caroline."

"Just Carl," the kid corrects, shaking his head. Travers's mouth tightens again. It's not a very typical omega name, so no surprise.

It occurs to Bruce to wonder if Carl might be a trans alpha, which he probably should've thought to wonder as soon as he saw how he was dressed and got an impression of his personality. Obviously the kid's at least not currently on HRT if he's working as a wet nurse, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of him being transgender all the same.

Actually, affording gender-affirming care is definitely a reason that a kid like this one would be working this job, especially if said kid's family weren't supporting them. Wet nurses make more money than most other fields that omegas without a diploma can expect to get into, at least short of sex work, and Carl is very obviously too young to have graduated college yet.

Actually, Bruce still isn't even sure if he's old enough to have graduated high school yet.

He's going to burn down this whole damn agency if they're knowingly employing a minor as a wet nurse.

"Nice to meet you, Carl," he says easily. Carl's eyes narrow consideringly, and then he folds his arms and smirks, crooked and casual.

"Sure," he says. "Nice to meet you too, Wayne."

Travers looks agonized. The last non-alpha stranger who called Bruce "Wayne" instead of "Alpha Wayne" was a beta terrorist who was in the middle of kidnapping him, and he's not sure any omega who wasn't an active supervillain ever has, so he's not surprised by her reaction.

Carl is still watching him with the same cocky smirk, though, an obvious challenge in the expression and his posture both. Bruce puts another point towards the possibility of him being a trans alpha, though he's not stupid enough to actually ask if he is, especially not in front of someone the kid works under. Presentation aside, Carl might not be out, and Travers is currently at least professionally following traditional manners, so Bruce doesn't have much hope for this agency being all that progressive and doesn't want to accidentally get the kid fired.

Though if Carl is a minor, Bruce is going to have to see if he can't slip him a business card and find him another job. Especially if he's going to be burning down the agency he's working for.

"Why aren't you available for direct nursing, if you don't mind me asking?" he asks in a curious tone, because he still can't smell a pup on the kid and most wet nurses who aren't nursing their own pups do direct nursing, and he wants intel about the agency's typical practices. Carl shrugs.

"Stubborn tits," he replies, pushing his chest out as he gestures at himself with no apparent sense of shame or self-consciousness, and Travers looks increasingly agonized. Bruce is just increasingly missing Jason, himself. "Milk flows too slow and the pups always get all fussy and stress out about it. Which, whatever, pups are weird anyway, they're not really my thing."

"'Weird'?" Bruce repeats, carefully noting the lack of possessives in reference to any potentially dysphoria-triggering anatomy. Still not a confirmation, but another point. Carl shrugs again.

"I'm afraid Carly doesn't bond appropriately with pups, Alpha Wayne," Travers interjects quickly, and Carl scowls at her. "She has an unfortunate detachment disorder."

"I 'attach' fine," Carl grumbles sourly, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. "I just don't like kids."

Travers grimaces. Bruce keeps pretending to be an oblivious idiot. He has met omegas who don't like children. They exist.

They're just all deeply, deeply traumatized people. Or clinically insane.

Or both, frequently.

So . . . "detachment disorder" seems likely, yes.

Bruce doesn't consider either sex or gender to be the end-all be-all of a person, of course, but there are certain biological imperatives that no one can deny as existing, and a lactating omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–really, just about any omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–is not ever going to say they "just" don't like kids. Usually the problem with omega wet nurses is them liking kids too much, in fact, and getting distressed or depressed when the parents wean the pups and they won't be seeing them again. The decent agencies have psychological support for that in place and typically offer paid leave between long-term clients. The Waterton Agency does up to a month, which is one of the reasons Bruce chose it.

So yes, Carl is almost definitely traumatized.

Though really, a wet nurse who won't be around much isn't the worst thing, considering. Neither Clark nor Jon started developing any especially noticeable powers until they were older, but they can't assume anything based off a sample size of two, especially when said sample size is made up of biological relatives. And even if they didn't have to worry about that, well, the manor is frequently full of vigilantes and the cave is right underneath it. There's a lot that a regular guest could notice, especially over however long they might need to be nursing. Especially because nursing is a quiet, out-of-the-way activity that takes a while, and it would be very easy for someone to forget to keep their voice down or to not do a damn quadruple-backflip off a chandelier at the wrong moment.

And there's a reason Clark and Lois brought this problem to the shadows of Gotham, as opposed to staying in bright and sunny Metropolis with it. They've got something to hide right now, and a lot to figure out.

Plus if even a molecule of kryptonite gets involved in this situation, even secondhand . . .

Power Girl and Supergirl and Steel are the ones taking shifts watching Metropolis right now, and everyone is just going to leave it at that. Superman isn't coming out for anything less than the apocalypse.

"Well, the Lane-Kents will probably want you to meet the kiddo either way, if you don’t mind," Bruce tells Carl, offering an easy shrug. "Peace of mind, you know how it is."

"Not really," Carl says. Bruce debates slipping the kid a psychiatrist's business card, but he'd probably take it as an insult.

"Er, yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says awkwardly. "Actually, we were expecting Alpha Lane to be with you . . . ?"

"Lois is currently stuck in Metropolis traffic thanks to Metallo bashing up half of downtown this afternoon and Clark is upstairs getting the kiddo around. Little guy just woke up from his nap," Bruce replies with a pleasant smile, making another note of how Travers left off the omega member of the couple's last name, and also apparently doesn't expect to be meeting said omega at all. He is increasingly regretting choosing this agency, though he may yet manage to do some good in the world by subtly dismantling it. Or maybe just by buying it outright and doing a little restructuring.

Or a lot of restructuring.

"Wait, it's not your kid?" Carl asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression. Travers looks pained. The Waterton Agency isn't Gotham-based, so Bruce isn't sure why she apparently expects Carl to be up on the Wayne pack's current members, especially considering how she keeps talking over and outright ignoring him. Bruce has a hard time picturing her bothering to provide the information herself, at this point.

"Oh, no, just doing a favor for some visiting friends," he replies smoothly, still wearing the same pleasant smile. Which is a lie, of course, because actually the Lane-Kents are part of his secondary pack and "visiting friends" therefore in no way covers what they are to him. The Wayne pack is both his primary and his family pack, obviously, and the Justice League is a loosely-connected tertiary pack, but his secondary pack lacks both an official name and public recognition, because explaining to the public why Brucie Wayne's secondary pack is two award-winning reporters from Metropolis, a random museum curator in Gateway City, a decorated Navy SEAL, and occasionally a cat burglar with commitment issues is just not going to work out for anyone's secret identities.

And that even without counting how everyone knows about Lois Lane and Steve Trevor's respective very public connections to Superman and Wonder Woman, much less ever explaining anything about Selina. Bruce, meanwhile, still isn't sure how he ended up in a pack with any of these people. Clark and Diana definitely have a lot to answer for either way, though.

Mostly he blames Clark. Diana has more decorum. Clark is just . . . Clark, so now Bruce gets a scarf and cookies from Martha Kent every Christmas, never mind that he's technically Jewish, because God forbid he ever tells her that and she starts sending him Hanukkah presents instead. He cannot handle eight nights' worth of Martha Kent's colorfully-wrapped scarves and lovingly-packaged cookies. That's just not a thing he can do.

He doesn't even celebrate holidays, except when Dick cons him into it. Which admittedly he's been doing more often again the past few years, but–

This is off-topic, Bruce reminds himself, but then gets distracted as Carl cocks his head a little and frowns over something. Bruce instinctively wants to brace himself for trouble at the sight, because that frown actually very strongly reminds him of Clark's "what the hell weird and concerning thing did I just notice with my super-senses" frown, but A) Carl doesn't have super-senses and B) Bruce just heard the stairs creak, which means the actual Clark is finally on his way down to meet them. No one else in the manor would ever make the steps creak any way but deliberately except for Lois or Jon, and Jon is out on a walk with Damian and Titus while Lois is, again, currently stuck in Metropolis traffic. So: Clark, definitely.

Also Clark tends to make the stairs creak a lot louder than either Lois or Jon do, given the very notable size difference there.

"Has Alpha Lane authorized you to make decisions for his pup's care, Alpha Wayne?" Travers asks with another forced smile. Bruce is resolving to check specifically her background too, at this point.

"No, no, that won't be necessary, good ol' Clark's right here," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's his pup too, and he knows much more about ones this age than I do anyway."

"Yes, well, omegas tend to get a little . . . irrational about the idea of sharing their pups with a wet nurse," Travers says "politely", like she thinks she's stating a fact. Bruce would say something cheerful-sounding and subtly insulting back, typically, but Carl's frown is deepening and he looks a little bit . . . odd, maybe, or . . .

There's a strange little pup-call from the stairs, very quiet and echoing in unusual registers but still recognizably one all the same, and just as recognizably resigned-sounding. It's a pup-call that clearly expects to go unanswered, at this point, which is something that Bruce would like to never hear again in his life, given the option.

Though it's better than a pup who's given up on calling at all, he supposes.

He tries not to grimace at that thought, though he's sure Clark's grimacing enough for the both of them right now after hearing a call like that. The pup is starving, and they just can't feed him properly. At this point sending him back where he came from might be kinder.

Honestly, if Bruce didn't know exactly who his parents were, he might've already insisted on that.

It's just–

The pup calls again, even quieter. Travers looks perplexed.

"Er," she says. "I apologize, Alpha Wayne, but is the pup ill? We can't be around them if they are, it's against agency policy."

"Oh, the kiddo just sounds like that," Bruce replies dismissively, and then lies, "Vocal chord deformity, apparently. We're not sure what caused it, pediatrician thinks it's something genetic."

Well, it is genetic. Jon calls in exactly the same registers, and according to Martha and Jonathan so did Clark.

So it's genetic, yes. Just not a deformity.

Carl's expression looks–odd, still. Bruce isn't sure what to think of it, but it makes him a bit wary. A detachment disorder doesn't imply an actual negative reaction to the presence of a pup, obviously, but . . .

Clark steps into the parlor with Lor-Zod sitting on his hip, the pup no older than two or so and looking small and listless in his arms, his dark skin all washed out and his previously bright eyes gone dull and tired. When he first crash-landed in Metropolis in the rocket he'd been wrapped up inside, Clark said he'd popped out of it energetic and excited and clamoring for attention in toddler-level Kryptonian, but he's been slowly fading ever since, wasting away without the nutrients that they just can't provide him. He's probably only made it this long thanks to the sun.

Again, Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, though he was already at least three by the time they got him, which probably helped. A pup Lor's age is capable of eating solid food, obviously, but milk or formula is still a major part of a pup's diet until they're four or five, if not older, and the longer the better. Hell, most kids still at least semi-regularly nurse for as long as their dam can manage to stay milked up, or even until they present themselves. No one can wean a damn toddler and expect them to thrive.

Or even survive, in Lor's case.

Lor opens his mouth in another weak, resigned little pup-call, and Clark's own mouth tightens as he restrains himself from answering it and giving the pup false hope for milk he just doesn't have, and Bruce steels himself to–

Carl croons.

Travers startles. Bruce is . . . surprised, a bit. A detachment disorder doesn't really imply the kind of omega who'd croon at a pup they've never seen before in their life, after all.

It's an unusual and unpracticed croon, as if it's a sound Carl doesn't make very often, which Bruce supposes would make sense. Lor responds to it immediately, though, shifting weakly in Clark's arms and pup-calling again.

Carl, with absolutely no manners or decorum whatsoever, sweeps right past Travers and Bruce and Alfred and just plucks Lor straight out of Clark's arms. Which–forget the kid calling him "Wayne"; that's a damn etiquette breach. Hell, Clark probably only didn't take Carl's head off for snatching up his pup without permission because he's so clearly dumbfounded that he actually did it.

Bruce is slightly less dumbfounded due to having spent five seconds in the kid's presence, but still, what is he–

"Carly!" Travers chokes in horror. Carl very obviously doesn't even hear her and just starts purring at Lor and cuddling him close in a way that really doesn't even slightly imply "detachment disorder".

And then Bruce figures out what was "odd" about Carl's expression, before.

"Huh," he says, a little bemused. "Did he just go into feral drop?"

"Alpha Wayne, I assure you, this is not the Waterton Agency's standard of behavior!" Travers sputters, sounding even more horrified, and Clark just blinks and tilts his head.

"I think he did, yeah," he says, looking perplexed. Carl continues ignoring everyone in the room except for Lor and just purrs louder at him as they both nuzzle into each other. Lor makes more very distinctly Kryptonian pup-calls at him, and Carl croons back with no apparent concern over their strangeness, sounding absolutely goddamn enamored.

That is definitely not a detachment disorder, Bruce thinks. There is no possible way that an omega with a detachment disorder just went into full feral drop over a pup at first sight.

Or possibly first sound, he's realizing.

Bruce is perfectly aware that omegas can feral-bond with distressed pups whether they mean to or not, but he's never seen it happen this fast outside of a warzone or a natural disaster. He's heard hearsay and read studies about particularly compatible sets that have done it under less stressful circumstances, but distressed and starving pup or not, he wouldn't have even expected a human omega to be capable of bonding with a Kryptonian pup like that.

Or at all, frankly. Deliberately created and carefully cultivated pack bonds are one thing, but . . .

Lor chirps, the sound still a little quiet and fragile, a little weak, but also undeniably hopeful, and Carl gives him a low, rumbly purr in reply and yanks up his inconveniently-cut T-shirt to expose his chest with no trace of hesitation or modesty. He's already leaking sweetly-scented milk, already adjusting his grip on Lor to let the pup get at his chest as easily and comfortably as possible, and Lor latches without a moment's hesitation and immediately starts to nurse.

And then Lor purrs. Carl just watches him with undeniable adoration, still paying no attention whatsoever to anyone else in the room.

Alright, then, Bruce thinks carefully.

Well, that just happened.

"Thought you didn't like kids, Carl?" he inquires casually, putting on an easy grin, and Carl finally seems to come up enough to remember that the rest of them exist, though he still doesn't actually take his eyes off Lor.

"I would literally become a supervillain if this kid asked me to," he replies dreamily, keeping Lor cradled in one arm and tracing a finger down the pup's cheek with a soft, besotted expression that's unmistakable for what it is even with the sunglasses on. He looks like he might just burn down the world if someone tried to take Lor away from him right now, and his pheromones are so all-encompassing and so cloyingly sweet that Bruce genuinely might need to see a dentist after this.

"Well usually I'd say we keep Batman in the loop on that kind of thing around here, but if the kiddo asks, it only seems fair," he jokes with a laugh.

"I would drop-kick Batman off a roof for you," Carl informs Lor lovingly as he strokes his cheek again and then skims a fingertip along the little barely-visible scar splitting his eyebrow. Lor keeps purring sweetly and Alfred coughs to conceal a low chuckle. Clark looks a little pained to be watching one of his pups nurse from another omega so easily and eagerly, but his mouth quirks in amusement at the comment anyway. Bruce doesn't dignify any of them with a response, because he is an alpha with dignity and also is in no way threatened by a passing comment from a barely-presented kid who clearly isn't even combat-trained.

. . . although he also isn't going to be stupid enough to try coaxing Lor away from the omega he just feral-bonded with just yet either.

Then Tim walks by the doorway, takes one look at Carl with Lor, and trips over literally nothing and into a full faceplant on the foyer floor. Bruce pauses, then raises an eyebrow.

"Alright down there, Timmy?" he asks. Tim scrambles back to his feet, looking more genuinely mortified than he's ever seen him.

"Fine!" he blurts. "Fine. Everything's fine. All the things are fine. Uh. What? Who?"

"This is Carl," Bruce says, gesturing to the kid. "Wet nurse from the Waterton Agency. And his escort, Beta Travers. Carl, Beta Travers, this is my son, Tim Drake-Wayne. And also Clark Lane-Kent and his pup, Chris Lane-Kent, who I'm assuming you've figured out are your prospective clients."

"Yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says with a grimace. "We gathered."

"Ngh," Tim says, looking at literally everything but Carl and Lor. His face is bright red, which is an unusual amount of embarrassment for him to be showing just over tripping. Typically he masks that kind of thing a lot more effectively. Bruce would almost think he was actually embarrassed by watching Carl feed Lor, but Tim's literally never been affected by anything but passing curiosity when seeing a pup nurse before, so that seems unlikely. And he's a male beta, if still an unpresented one, so it's not like he's got any reason to care all that much about it anyway.

So his reaction does seem a little odd, yes.

Hm.

"Chris," Carl coos adoringly down at Lor. Bruce is in no way stupid enough to think that he absorbed any of the rest of that introduction or has even noticed Tim's presence at all. He wouldn't even put money on him having noticed Clark's presence, in fact, except as a pup-delivery system. The kid is very clearly in love with the pup in his arms and doesn't give a damn about any of the rest of them at all.

Detachment disorder. Sure.

[thekenobee]

I love how in Strange New Worlds S2 everyone's doing just ✨fine✨

M'Benga and Chapel are doing heavy drugs

Spock's in therapy

Una is in jail

La'an is taking up drinking games

[p-antalons]

omgcp with no changes except the frogs are like this

[narabea06]

So I made a Creepypasta relationship chart

These are all headcanons btw, I acknowledge its not canon!

Separate layers under the cut :p

Familial bond (blood-related) -

Lazari and Stripes are stepsisters

Cody and Toby are stepbrothers

Sally and Sam are cousins

Liu and Jeff are brothers but have a complicated relationship

Familial bond (not blood-related) -

Sadie and Puppeteer have a father-daughter dynamic

Killing Kate, Nurse Ann, and Sadie have a sisterly dynamic

Chris looks up to Clockwork as an older sibling

Sally and Sam both see Ben as family, and Lazari and Sally see each other as sisters

Chris sees Lulu as a motherly/sisterly figure

Toby and Kate TC have a sibling dynamic

Nina sees Ben as a younger sibling

Jeff and Lulu see each other like siblings

EJ and Lulu both act as Sally and Ben's parents

Best Friends -

Stripes and Clockwork (complicated)

Sally and Ben

Ben, Nina, and Toby

Killing Kate and Jeff

Vine and Emra

Nurse Ann and Puppeteer

Jeff thinks Jane is his best friend

Jane sees Liu as her best friend

Mary and Liu

Chris and EJ

Poly Relationships -

Lulu and EJ

Roadwalker and Emra

Sadie, Vailly, and Zeyner are dating

Zero, Puppeteer, Judge Angels, and Helen are all together

Mary and Jane are married, and Nina is dating both

Kate TC is in a polycule with CR and Lauren

Dating -

Zero and Killing Kate are dating

EJ and Liu are together

Toby and Clockwork are dating

Exes -

Jeff and Nina kinda used to date

Stripes and Judge Angels used to be a couple

Emra and Puppeteer are exes

Hate -

Nina kinda hates Jeff but it's still pretty complicated

The Kate's hate each other

Jane, Mary, and Toby hate Jeff

Nurse Ann and Judge Angels are enemies

Nurse Ann and Kate TC do not get along

Clockwork hates Kate TC (it's meant to be onesided but i forgot)

Judge Angels hates Stripes

Zeyner hates Puppeteer

Zero and Jeff DO NOT get along

[virtualdissection]

Muslimgauze Bryn Jones

[billypoindexter]

“Frog Study Time” rarely included any actual studying. Chowder would suggest that the three of them get together to work on homework, and it wouldn’t take long for the books and computers to be abandoned in favor of the stupidest conversation topics known to man (their conversation about Barbie movie lore had gotten so out of hand that they were unofficially banned from all going to the library together). But even though they all realized that these study sessions were literally a waste of time at this poitn, Nursey and Dex never turned down Chowder’s offer.

This particular Wednesday night Dex was doing his best to fight the urge to yap, as he needed to make headway on his comp sci midterm before their roadie this weekend. Nursey hadn’t even grabbed any of his books before pulling Chowder onto Dex’s (“the top bunk won’t hold us both!”), and Dex was doing his best to tune them out while he coded. But even with good intentions, Dex knew there was no way he wouldn’t inevitably be drawn into the chitchat.

“Nineteen is not old, Nursey!”

“Dude, you’re literally a D1 athlete, you can’t tell me that no one was interested before Caitlin.”

“Just because girls were interested doesn’t mean I had to oblige. I wanted to wait for someone I actually liked.”

Dex must have been focusing in way more than he thought, because he had no idea how Chowder and Nursey started talking about their first hookups. It wasn’t unusual for the team as a whole to discuss their sex lives, but with the frogs they usually geared their conversations towards more sophisticated subjects, such as Barbie movies

Nursey turned toward Dex at his desk, and Dex could hear the annoying grin on his face as he said, “Bet you waited for someone special, Pointdexter. You seem the sentimental type.”

Dex just continued to type and squint at his computer screen. “Actually, I’ve never had sex.”

Chowder slammed closed his psych textbook—there’s a chance he had opened it at that moment just so he could slam it closed for dramatic effect—and shouted, “HOW DID WE NOT KNOW THAT????” He let out a moan of despair. “We’re supposed to tell each other everything!”

“Yeah, what happened to the sacred frog bond?” Nursey added.

Dex shrugged, doing his best to not get drawn in. Realistically, he knew that he wasn’t going to get anymore work done, but he continued to stare at his computer in the hopes that he could refocus.

“Dude, we can totally find a chick to hook you up with. Unless I was right about you being a romantic,” ribbed Nursey. “Also, we can see you’re not working on your midterm anymore, so you can give up the act.”

Huffing, Dex swiveled around in his desk chair and crossed his arms. Chowder was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands as he stared at Dex. Nursey, ever chill, was leaning on his side, messing up Dex’s pillows as he propped his head on the back of his hand.

“I never said anything because it never came up,” said Dex flatly. “And I’m not a romantic, I’m just not interested.”

“C’mon,” whined Chowder, “give us the chance to find you someone!”

Dex shook his head as he clarified, “No, I mean I’m not interested in sex.”

A pause. Two blank faces looking at him. As much as Dex wanted to play it cool, he could feel his heart beating a bit faster and a blush creep up his neck; he’d never admit that to anyone before, even though he’d known it himself for a while.

Nursey was the first to break the silence: “Huh.” (This guy really knows how to make use of all those English classes.)

“Wow, really?” asked Chowder, clearly curious, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never seen a girl and wanted to…ya know…” He made some weird hand gestures that Dex very much did not know, but he got the idea.

“Nope.” He took a breath and added more quietly, “It’s not really girls that I look at, anyway.”

Again a pause. Again two blank faces. Again a quickening heartbeat and a spreading blush, as Dex voiced another thought that wasn’t new to him. But this time Chowder was the one who reacted first.

“Oh! Oh, ok!” He clapped his hands together. “We’re learning so much tonight! This has got to be one of our more productive study sessions.”

He grinned brightly at Dex. He gave him a smile back, not as big but just as genuine. He then flicked his eyes to Nursey, who also had a small smile as he slowly nodded his head. “Right on, Pointdexter.”

Nursey and Dex held each other’s gazes for a moment longer, then Dex cleared his throat and announced that that was enough emotion for one night and turned back to his computer. He worked a bit longer, letting Nursey and Chowder get back to their conversation (“You were seventeen and you’re giving me grief for being nineteen? Oh fuck off!”).

Chowder gave Dex a hug before heading back to his room for the night, which wasn’t unusual, even if this one was tighter and longer lasting than most. Nursey let Dex use the bathroom first while he worked on extricating himself from the bottom bunk and smoothing out the bedding. After brushing his teeth, Dex headed back to the room and passed Nursey, who grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Hey,” he said softly, seriously. Once Dex turned his head to him, he continued. “Do you want to talk more about it?”

Nursey had come out as pan to the team last year. Dex knew him and Bitty had talked about being queer and playing collegiate hockey, and the difficulties that could sometimes came with that. He tensed up for a second, thinking that Nursey was upset that he hadn’t said anything about his sexuality before, but there was nothing but concern in his face.

Dex shook off Nursey’s hand. “No, I’m alright,” he said, making his way to his bunk.

Later, as they both were laying in their beds, Dex spoke again. “Thank you, though. For, um…for offering. I appreciate it.”

“See, I knew that you’re secretly a softy.”

Dex rolled his eyes at that and reached with the palm of his hand out to punch the bedframe above him. Then he turned and nestled into his pillows, breathing deeply of the scent the lingered there and trying not to think about why he liked it so much.

[zimmerdouche]

sometimes to practice your comic skills you spend too much time imagining a random conversation that could happen in omgcp year 5.

in which nursey needs sleep, dex should relax, whiskey reconsiders his choices and chowder gets his lick in.

(images have alt text!)

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Die Hard

Summary: It’s not over

A/N: Happy Summer my loves!.....so remember when I said the final part was the final part?.....well....I may have lied a smidge....Six is back.

As always, this NSFW 18+ should be par for the course at this point. So like….?

My beautiful partner in crime, my enabler, my soul sister @ken-dom without whom this continuation would not have happened....I thank you for your continued support and love and will forever relish in the fact that I've dragged you over to the Six side ;)

This is indeed a continuation of what I’ve affectionately titled the Nurse Series, read previous parts  here.

This was meant to be a TWO part series and Six just refuses to rest so here we are.

Enjoy my loves! <3 And yes, the title is inspired by my other non-shoe wearing love, it seems I have a type...

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes with a heavy sigh before dropping your hands back to your keyboard. Somebody pushed another stack of clipboards across your desk. You shook your head as the phone on your desk rang again. 

“No” you shook your head picking up the receiver and your coworker gave you a sympathetic shrug.  “Fifth floor nurse’s sta-” 

“Yeah, yeah I know the drill” 

You laughed lightly “This isn’t a secure line” 

“You really should fix that” he quipped 

“Where are you?” you asked, typing on the computer, cradling the receiver against your chin. “Somewhere tropical?” 

“That’s classified” 

You scoffed rolling your eyes “Why do you even bother calling me then?”

“Checking in” 

You hummed “Checking in or checking up?” 

“Does it matter?” 

You smiled to yourself, taking a note from one of the nurses and handing one back. 

“No” you muttered “But I miss you; will you be home soon?” 

“I don’t know” 

You sighed again “Don’t know or can’t say?” 

“Can’t say” he confirmed your suspicions. 

“Gary will be waiting” you muttered 

“Just Gary?” he asked

You looked up as a shadow fell across your desk and your heart stopped, your voice dying in the back of your throat. 

Your heart slammed in your chest as you took short shallow breaths. You could hear Six talking on the other end, but couldn’t make the words come out. 

“Babe?” Six spoke again

You were finally able to choke out a whimper. Your eyes never leave the pair locked on yours. 

“What is it?” Six spoke again “Talk to me” 

As if to answer the question he couldn’t hear the man standing on the other side of your desk seemingly answered for you. 

“Hiya Sunshine” he grinned, his smirk making your skin crawl “Did ya miss me?” 

“Leave,” Six immediately responded in your ear “Now. I’m on my way” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat; the crowded hospital was suddenly feeling very empty. 

“No,” you whispered “Don’t…” the receiver shook in your hand “Don’t leave me…” 

Lloyd motioned for the receiver and when you didn’t immediately move to hand it over he reached across the desk and took it from you. 

“Hi Six” he sneered as a coworker made her way around the desk taking a patient chart before she disappeared again, giving you nothing more than a sidelong glance. 

“If you so much as breathe in her direction Lloyd, I’ll kill you” you heard his muffled reply 

Lloyd hummed slightly amused “Your girl tried that, maybe you’ll have better luck” 

You could only imagine what you looked like sitting across from him, protected by nothing more than the desk between you. 

“You can  try,” Lloyd narrowed his eyes as he leaned across the desk, making you lean back in your chair instinctively “But between you and me, Six, I don’t think you’ll make it this time” he whispered, his eyes fixed on yours. “Better hurry” 

He held the phone out to you and you took it with a shaky hand; bringing it back to your ear. You couldn’t help your shaky breath. 

“You remember?” Six asked and you could tell he was moving, walking or running somewhere to get to you as fast as he could. 

“It’s been months” you whispered “I…”

“You remember” he said more firmly “I’ll be there as soon as I can” 

“Please hurry” you whispered echoing Lloyd’s words before the line clicked dead in your ear. 

You hung the phone up in the cradle and Lloyd hadn’t moved. 

“You need to leave” you said as firmly as you could manage 

“Do I princess?” he sneered “Seems like you can’t go much of anywhere right now, can you?” 

“Leave Lloyd” you snapped “Or I’ll call security” 

That made him laugh out loud; the sickening laugh that still haunted your nightmares even months later…almost a year. 

“Will you?” he smirked “Go ahead, see what happens” 

You blinked at his bluntness and you could tell he knew immediately that he’d caught you off guard. 

You picked up the receiver and reached to dial security; as soon as you had Lloyd pulled out a gun no bigger than his hand and you jumped when the loud pop rang through the lobby. 

Your jaw dropped open watching one of the doctors walking by drop to the tiled floor. You gasped looking back at Lloyd who pursed his lips with a shrug 

“Wanna try again?” he raised an eyebrow 

You watched horrified as your colleagues helped the doctor who had been shot and others tried to keep everyone in the room calm. 

You fought to keep your breathing even as you got to your feet. “You're supposed to be dead”

Again, Lloyd leaned over the desk but you fought to keep from moving backwards, standing your ground. Court's words echoing in your mind

“He’s going to get in your head” 

“Tell you you’re weak, and small…a woman” his voice continued “He’s bigger than you” 

“Stronger than you” 

“Next time, check” he whispered with a wink and patted your cheek. 

You shrugged away from his touch “Get out”

He turned, still leaning on the desk and fired off another shot, this time hitting a nurse. 

“Stop” you whispered “Please”

He scoffed and fired off another shot hitting a second nurse. 

“No”

“What do you want?” You asked quietly 

Lloyd smirked, his eyes fixed on yours “You. Bloody. Dead.”

It was your turn to scoff “You tried that, remember?” You mocked “Maybe you should have tried harder”

He cocked his head, slightly taken aback by your brazenness. 

“You won't kill me,” you narrowed your eyes “Not here”

He cocked an eyebrow”You seem pretty certain”

“I am” you snapped 

Lloyd's eyes dropped to the gun in his hand and then looked back at you. 

“You're a coward” 

No sooner than the words left your lips did you feel an all too familiar sharp pain in your side. 

You collapsed against the desk gasping in pain, looking down to see a deep dark red patch stain your scrub top. 

You groaned quietly, taking sharp breaths through your nose. 

You swallowed hard, straightening up as best as you could. 

Lloyd met you with his sickly smirk “You were saying?”

“Six is going to rip you limb from limb”  you winced, pushing your fingers into your side trying to slow the bleeding.  

Another taunting laugh “If he makes it; personally I'm hoping you bleed out and I get to tell him I win”

The hospital was in chaos, but to your ears everything was muted. Everything except Lloyd's voice, it cut through everything like a knife. 

“Next time I won't miss”

You slumped back in your chair, not able to hold yourself up anymore. 

You felt lightheaded and the excruciating pain in your side was one you wished you never felt again. 

You ran your tongue between your lips and your eyes slipped closed briefly before you opened them again, watching everyone run around the hospital as you watched Lloyd come around the nurses desk and stood in front of you. 

Your heart slammed in your chest, but you couldn't will yourself to move. 

More hard, short, shallow breaths as Lloyd stood in front of you, his hand extended, gun poised, aimed at you.. 

“I could shoot you dead, right here and no one would be the wiser” his smugness evident. “No one would even notice” 

Lloyd dropped the gun and you internally breathed a sigh of relief

You winced as you struggled to take in another breath looking up at him “So why don’t you, instead of just talking about it?” 

You knew why, you had been here before; Lloyd was grandstanding. He had you backed into a corner and you both knew it, Six wasn’t here, everyone else was preoccupied with the madness around you, Lloyd had won, and he was going to take every opportunity to make sure you knew that. 

Suddenly Lloyd yanked you to your feet, his grip tight on your elbow as you tripped over your own feet. “What are you going to do Lloyd, throw me off the helipad?” 

He snorted with a laugh “As much as I’d love to see you take a swan dive; no, you and I are going to get reacquainted” 

“Nurse Gentry?” you turned hearing your name in the chaos; one of the summer interns looked at you absolutely horrified having seen the gun in Lloyd’s hand  “You’re hurt” 

“I’m fine,” you lied, knowing you had to get her out of Lloyd’s line of fire “Help doctor Wilcox” 

“But…” she stammered and she was looking at Lloyd 

“Boring” Lloyd rolled his eyes and fired another shot, the bullet embedding itself into the intern’s thigh. 

You gasped as she winced in pain, but Lloyd didn’t give you a chance to do much else. 

Five 

He had one left. 

Lloyd dragged you toward the nearest bank of elevators, the panic he had created fading away as he punched the button and the doors slid closed. He finally let you go and you collapsed against the wall before finding your balance. 

“You and your boyfriend have been nothing but a pain in my ass” he muttered “I should just shoot you, right here and be done with it” 

“Then grow a pair and do it” you breathed 

He shook his head as the elevator door pinged open; his foot connecting squarely with your kneecap with a sickening crunch, dropping you to your knees. You gasped in pain, fighting back the sobs you knew he was trying to force out of you. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, looming over you as you struggled to try to get to your feet. 

Before you could manage, Lloyd grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you from the elevator before dropping you roughly to the concrete.

You pushed yourself up from the floor and glared at him, only to have him land a swift kick to your ribcage. Thankfully, he was too stupid to kick you where it mattered and cause you to bleed more than you already were. 

You rolled to lay on your back, catching your breath as much as you were able. This part of the hospital was under construction, no one else would be up here; you wondered how likely it would be that you could cheat death…again.

“Get up” Lloyd kicked your foot, standing over you 

“I wouldn’t stand there if I was you” you glared “You leave some very sensitive parts exposed” 

He sidestepped as you got to your feet the dark red stain on your top steadily growing bigger. Your other side throbbing where Lloyd’s boot had made contact with your ribs…you didn’t think they were broken, but fuck that man knew how to land a blow. 

“You wanna dance again Lloyd?” You breathed “Even shot I can kick your ass into next week” 

“I’d like to test that theory” Lloyd sneered 

Before you could form your next thought, you squeezed your hand into a fist and swung for Lloyd’s nose. He caught your wrist, your fist in mid air, inches from his face and he cocked his head with a smirk. 

“We’ve been here before” he smirked, his eyes fell on your finger and he hummed “Didn’t take you for a tattoo kinda girl” 

You yanked your wrist from his grip with a scoff “Don’t take me for anything” 

“That’s on a pretty important finger” he quipped and you watched as it dawned on him “You didn’t marry that waste of skin did you?” 

“You have the gall to dress like that and call him a waste of skin?” 

Someone behind you snorted with a laugh “She’s got you there Lloyd” 

You whipped your head around hearing his familiar voice “Six” you gasped a sigh of relief 

All at once, Lloyd’s fist met your nose and you felt it separate along the old break; the blood poured down the front of your top. 

Your arm shot out, stopping Six in his tracks “Don’t!” 

Lloyd snorted with a laugh “Forever the golden retriever, eh Six?” 

Six pushed you gently before his fist connected with Lloyd’s temple. 

“Six!” 

He immediately shook his head “Not this time, this time it’s my turn” 

He wasn’t even looking at you, his attention was fixed on Lloyd. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and held it out to you “Go clean up your nose” 

You took the shirt and held it to your still bleeding nose. Your head was pounding and you could hear Lloyd talking, but couldn’t make out what he was saying, your ears still ringing from the impact of his fist. 

You slumped against the closest wall, suddenly feeling very dizzy. You slid to the floor with the heel of your hand pressed against your bloodied side; when you pulled your hand away it was bright red and wet; you might be worse off than you initially thought. 

Your nose was broken, your blood stained Six’s t-shirt…too much of it. 

Leaning against the wall, you fought to keep your eyes open, keep them on Six.

“Court” you whispered, not able to make your voice any louder before your eyes slipped closed, all of this feeling all too familiar. 

***

You felt yourself being shifted and picked up from the floor. You groaned, wincing in pain. 

“Hmm” you whimpered 

“It’s me,” Court whispered against the shell of your ear “Stay awake, stay with me, okay?” 

You hummed weakly, your head heavy against his shoulder “Lloyd?” 

“Don’t worry about Lloyd” 

His voice was far away as you felt him carry you through the hospital. 

You gathered enough strength to lift your head “Not here,” you whispered “Home…” 

“You won’t make it home” he said, and for the first time since you met him he sounded scared. 

You squeezed your eyes shut with tears slipping down your cheeks “Where are we?” you whispered trying to get your bearings and making yourself dizzy. “What floor?” 

“Ten” 

“Take me to five” you breathed “Find Wilcox,” you whispered “She knows about you, she’ll help” 

“She knows about me?” 

“Yes,” you whispered “Be mad later if I don’t die first” 

“You’re not gonna die” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple “Not at the hands of Lloyd Hansen” 

Your head fell heavy against his shoulder and he let out a heavy breath through his nose. 

The elevator door pinged open and your weight was growing heavier in his arms by the second.  As soon as he had stepped off the elevator he caught the attention of a young brunette who in any other circumstance would have made him laugh, but he knew what the two of you looked like. 

She weaved her way through the throngs of people, motioning silently with a jerk of her head to one of the rooms down the hall. The noise and excitement of the waiting room faded away as the big double doors closed behind him.

The only sounds were the occasional squeak of her shoes on the tiled floor and his steady breathing; your weight was heavy against his chest, but he could still feel you breathing against him, it was shallow, but it was there. 

“So, you know about me,” he said it more like a statement than a question, keeping his voice low as he spoke. 

“That depends on what you want me to know” she answered with a glance over her shoulder before pointing to the empty room immediately to his left.

“As far as I’m concerned,” she continued closing the door behind her “You’re just some guy carrying my sister who struggles to adhere to the no shirt no shoes policy”

“Sister?” he questioned laying your unconscious body on the empty operating table 

Dr. Wilcox shrugged “For all intents and purposes” 

Six nodded slowly, but his attention was focused on you; your blood stained scrubs, your nose shifted at a jarring angle

“Do you know what happened?” 

He shook his head “You might want to send someone up to ten”

She furrowed her brow looking up at him from across the table “Ten is under construction…”

Six simply shrugged 

“You really are her John McClane, aren’t you?” she muttered, pulling up a stool to sit on so she could work more closely 

Six scoffed with a laugh shaking his head “No” 

“Sure do act like him though” she quipped giving Six a look up and down

Six ignored her comment and sighed heavily “What can I do?” 

She looked up from cleaning your wound and her expression softened. “Stop worrying for one, she’s going to be fine” 

The crease in his forehead disappeared and she heard him sigh heavily as she continued to work to pry the bullet from inside your abdomen. 

You cried out jerking away from the onslaught of pain and Dr. Wilcox sat back dropping her shoulders before she looked back at Six. 

“Either hold her down or calm her down so I can get this out.” 

He nodded and she watched as he walked toward the head of the bed, pulling over his own stool to sit on. 

She watched as Six brushed a piece of your hair off your face before he leaned forward and kissed your temple. 

His hands slid down over the upper part of your arms and he whispered something in your ear. 

Dr Wilcox smiled to herself noticing the matching tattoo on his finger that stood in place of a ring. 

She has been with you when you had gotten yours, you told her you had to go separately, it was safer that way….and she had to admit she wondered whether or not he would actually follow through. 

You had relaxed considerably making it easier for her to work. Although you were still slipping in and out of consciousness. 

Six sat at his place at the head of the small metal table, he had heard her say you were going to be fine, but until you were walking out of here under your own power he was hesitant to believe her. 

He had no reason not to believe her, and obviously you trusted her, but he couldn't do it. You looked so battered and broken, mumbling incoherently every so often until his voice soothed you back into a fitful state of semi consciousness. 

He had an idea of how you had felt now, all those times he had stumbled through your door in the middle of the night, usually bleeding and broken. 

His own wounds seemed superficial in this particular moment; although Lloyd had managed to get in a few good hits of his own. 

He looked up when a soft humming filled the cold room. 

Dr Wilcox looked up almost immediately having sensed someone's eyes on her. 

“Sorry,” she spoke softly “I find it keeps people calm”

Six shook his head as she got to her feet. 

“Hard part is done, now we just have to reset her nose”

He nodded, rolling out of her way, but only to the side of the bed, his hand still firmly gripping yours. 

“At least she's asleep this time” he muttered

Wilcox chuckled, glancing at him briefly before setting to her task. “Looks like you've got a few battle scars of your own there, John”

Six scoffed “What did she tell you about me?” 

“Enough” Wilcox smiled as she felt your nose slide back into place and braced it before she stood up straight 

“Enough?” He raised an eyebrow as she handed him a box of first aid and knelt in front of him. 

She nodded fishing in the kit in his lap for the cotton and alcohol. 

“For starters, I know you avoid hospitals like the plague, so the fact that you're here at all means it was life or death for her”

He didn't answer, just watched as she dabbed one of his many cuts. 

“I know your name isn't John,” she continued “You're CIA, I know the rest of the world calls you Six…but she calls you something different when it's just the two of you”

He listened to her intently as she continued 

“I know had it not been for you, she would have died last year…and again today.”

He just sighed in response. 

“I know you taught her to protect herself. I know because of you she wasn't afraid to sleep alone while you were gone”

“I'm gone a lot”

“And she misses you” 

Six let out a heavy sigh and Wilcox sat back after examining the deep gash on his side. 

“This one is going to need stitches”

She dug in the small kit for what she needed before looking back at Six “Can you sit still or do you want to lie down” 

“I'll sit” he muttered, his eyes not leaving your sleeping form. 

Dr Wilcox sat watching Six watching you and smiled with a small laugh. “She'll be fine” she whispered. 

When he sat unmoving, she took his chin in her hand and forced him to look away from you and at her. 

“Listen to me, I love her, just as much as you do…. probably more” she squeezed his cheeks in her hand and he scoffed with a laugh. 

“Trust me,” she whispered “Not only do I love her like a sister, which means by default,” she continued dropping her hand from his face “I love you like a brother” 

Six opened his mouth to speak and she shook her head 

“I don't care if it puts me in danger, I've been in danger this entire time and you had no idea and on top of all of that, I'm a doctor, this is my job.” 

Six let out a heavy sigh, but met her gaze all the same. 

“I know you don't trust me…or can't, I don't know which, but anything and everything I know about you and about her,” she glanced over her shoulder before turning her attention back to Six “It dies with me” 

Six nodded slowly “Understood” 

“Good” she smiled “Now, try not to throw up this time”

He narrowed his eyes and tipped his head slightly. 

Dr. Wilcox smirked with a nod “Yeah, she told me that too” 

“Is there anything you don't know?” He quipped with a grunt as she started to work.

“Your shoe size?” She teased 

You stirred with a pained groan and Dr  Wilcox’s arm shot out forcing Six back to the stool  “Ah, ah. Stay” her fingers digging into his forearm. “She's fine”

She finished stitching the wound and cleaned it once more before she finally let him stand. 

Your eyes were open, head turned, watching the two of them as Six made his way to your side. His big hand cupped your cheek and he bent to kiss you carefully. 

“Lloyd?” Your voice was raspy, barely a whisper. 

“Don't worry about Lloyd”  he shook his head, kissing you again. 

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks before you looked back at Six. “I'm sorry” you choked out before your body was racked with sobs. 

Six gently pulled you to sit up, wrapping his arms around you, mindful of your broken nose. “Shhh, none of this is your fault.”

You pulled back from him, your eyes glassy and filled with tears. “I didn't remember any of it,” you hiccuped a sob “E-everything that you told me to n-never for-forget”

“It's okay,” he whispered in your hair as he pulled you against him. ”I'm here, you're safe”

[virgoscringe]

My birthday's this monday

If you could draw some polyfrogs, I'd die a HAPPY man ❤️❤️❤️❤️

atlas ily ur the best thank u for always being the first to request smth whenever they’re open 💝💝 happy early birthday!! polyfrogs upon thee!!

pick up ur local goalie! give him some kisses! be his best friends! GRAAAAAH!!

(comm info <3)